


Guau-guau; a Random Dog Story

by imsfire



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Angst, Background Bodhi/Luke, F/M, Fluff and Feels, Kay is a dog in this one, Modern dress AU, bit of a slow burn, fluff feels and angst, london setting, unhappy backstories, west London in fact around where I live!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsfire/pseuds/imsfire
Summary: A handsome "blue merle" rough-coated greyhound, a young woman with a troubled past, her kind-hearted-but-jumpy brother, and a lonely Mexican journalist, all meet in a London park...





	1. Random Dog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Disneybrony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disneybrony/gifts).



> I’ve been struggling the last few days with all my WIPs, possibly because they’re all fairly (or very) angsty and as a consequence, fairly depressing as well. I currently have unhappy people in the mid-nineteenth century, unhappy Celts in the fifth century, uncertain lovers in Granada, and two men trapped under a fallen building in the galaxy far, far away to deal with, and I’ve begun to feel a bit as though I’m being sucked down into a dark, lonely place, which is not a good state of mind to be in, for writing or for any other areas of life. My thanks then to the noble Disneybrony who last night suggested I write some fluff to cheer myself up, came up with some ideas, and chatted me through one of them. I really don’t think I can do baby-fic (I’m astonished that I managed to write even one pregnancy fic!); but “lost dog” fic, now that is right up my street!  
> This is my first Star Wars/modern dress AU. Hopefully it won't be too horribly OOC.  
> For those not familiar with West London geography, Kay was lost on the Thames tow-path near Richmond Bridge, and found in Ealing, in Walpole Park, some 4.5 miles/7km away and, crucially, north of the river.

“Watch out to starboard,” Jyn says quickly “or he’ll have your sandwich.”

“What? - who? – oh my God! –“ Bodhi almost leaps sideways, flinging his arm wide to bring the half-eaten food out of the reach of the large dark grey dog that has just run up to him.  The lower slice of bread flaps open and a small amount of corned beef drops to the ground.  In an instant the dog comes bounding round to that side; he snatches the scrap of meat, wolfing it down in one gulp.  “Oh my God, help, get it away from me!”

“He’s a hungry boy.”  Jyn prises her own sandwich apart and extracts a piece of cheddar. 

“Don’t encourage it!” Bodhi is still processing the upheaval while trying to lever himself upright again without getting entangled in the dog.

“Not it, _he_.  Definitely a boy dog, aren’t you, beautiful?”  She ignores her brother’s jumpiness; nothing makes him more self-conscious than being told to calm down.  “Here, boy, want some cheese?” She holds out her offering and the dog bounds over to her eagerly, leaving Bodhi to pick himself up and give himself a shake and a brushing down.

“It’s slobbering on your hand!”

“ _He’s_ slobbering on my hand.  And that is why I have a packet of wipes in my bag.”

Although actually, the dog is taking the piece of cheese quite delicately; it seems he’s been trained not to bite when hand-fed.  She pets his ears carefully as he eats. 

“No collar,” she remarks.  “I wonder who he’s with?”

She sits up, then stands, taking another bite of what is now mainly just bread-and-salad, and stares thoughtfully around Walpole Park in the sunshine.

There are a good many other dogs, some on leashes and some not, and a good many dog-owners walking with them.  There are several groups of youngsters playing sports out on the open grass in the middle – she can see two football games with the usual piles of clothes for goalposts, and a rather scrappy cricket match in the distance.  There are sunbathers, there are children feeding the ducks, there are families and groups of friends picnicking like her and Bodhi.  Further off, a wedding party are having their photographs taken in the lee of the giant old cedars outside Pitzhanger Manor, and parents and kids are queueing at the ice-cream van parked by the lake.

There’s no sign of anyone searching for a dog. 

“Sit!” she tells the dog, who is frisking round her legs and gazing up at her.  “Good boy!” 

He ignores the command.

“Must be a stray,” Bodhi says.  “Poor lad.”  Now the dog isn’t trying to raid his lunch anymore he’s relaxing again, as she’d known he would.  Bodhi is good with animals as a rule, but he doesn’t like things making him jump. 

Jyn pushes the last of her sandwich into her mouth and crouches beside the dog, running her hands over his coat.  He’s panting now, long rose-pink tongue hanging down.  He seems in good condition, but there are burrs tangled in the ruff of hair around his forequarters, and in his long, plumy tail; and when she pats him more firmly she can feel his ribs just a little more than she would like.

He’s a handsome animal, tall at the shoulder and rangy, with a thick coat of dark grey and light grey mottled and dappled together, a dark nose with a pink scar across it, and striking clear blue eyes.  Jyn is no canine expert and she’s never seen a dog like him; she can only guess he’s  a mutt of some sort, perhaps part greyhound judging by the build, maybe part lurcher and part something shaggy like a sheepdog.  

“Where’ve you come from, then, handsome?” she asks.

There’s no reply, of course; but the dog looks at her thoughtfully and gives a single, cautious thump of his tail.

Bodhi has been watching; suddenly he begins dumping the last of the stuffed vine-leaves out of their plastic tray, into the olive pot.  He rinses the tray carefully and fills it with water.  “Here, see if he’s thirsty – wow, okay, yes –“ The dog moved in on the water as soon as it appeared and is lapping it up fast and messily.  He drinks the lot, and licks the dish; clears it again when Bodhi refills it.

“Odd that he didn’t drink from the duck-pond if he’s so thirsty…”

“Are you a fastidious eater, then, bonny lad?” Jyn asks.

Another single tail wag; and the strange dog sits beside her, then sinks onto his front paws with a sigh, and lies still, watching with those unnervingly bright eyes.

He stays for the rest of the afternoon.  No-one comes looking for him.

By five o’clock, when the shadows from the belt of horse-chestnut trees reach their picnic spot, they’ve shared the rest of Jyn’s cheese sandwiches with him, and are using Bodhi’s phone to check the Ealing Council web-page on reporting stray animals. 

“It says that if we can catch and confine him in a safe place such as a garage,” Bodhi reads unhappily “then the council will come and collect him today.  If we can’t, then we can report him as here in the park, but the service for collecting stray animals from public places doesn’t operate over the weekend.  There’s a number to call.”  He’s come right round from his initial shock, and is now rubbing Random Dog’s silky floppy ears as he speaks.  “You don’t want to be caught and confined, do you, boy?”

“Well, would you?” Jyn points out.

“Nope.  But I’d like being lost and having nothing to eat even less…  It says there’s a private contractor who runs the dog-pound service and – blimey – you pay an arm and a leg to get your dog back.  Seriously, it’s, like, sixty quid if he’s been kept there for just one day.”

“Do they try to reunite them with their people?”

“If they’re microchipped, yes; but you still have to pay the fine and the fee and the boarding charge.”

“And we still have to get him back to the flat, too,” Jyn says.  “Poor lad…  Hey, boy, want to come home with me, then?”  She pulls her headscarf out of her bag and rolls it up lengthways.  “How about you let me put this round your neck, then?”

Bodhi starts to laugh at the animal’s expression as she carefully manoeuvres the loop of fabric into place.  “I swear, he’s raising his eyebrows at you!”

“But he’s letting me do it, that’s the main thing.”  The patterned cotton looks rather fetching against Random Dog’s dappled coat. “Good boy!” 

“He trusts you.”  Bodhi grins.  “He likes you.”

“I like him.  I hope we can get him back to his owner.”

More handbag rummaging, and she finds a short length of string.  “Ah-ha!”

“Honestly, Jyn, the amount of weird crap you carry never ceases to amaze me.  String?  What are you, the White Knight?”

“Never know when you’re going to need a piece of string.”

It isn’t long enough to have made a collar; but once it’s tied through the scarf, given how tall the dog is and how short she is, it makes a passable improvised leash.

“Come on, boy, let’s go home.”

**

The signs are looking worse by the day.  The heavy rain midweek leaked into a lot of them, despite Cassian’s best efforts with sellotape and plastic sleeves, and the ink has run.  Pictures and text are smeared and bleared, in some cases almost to illegibility. And now this hot sunny weekend has bleached most of them as well.  Hardly any are fully readable anymore. 

The heat was uncomfortable even to him.  He cringes at the thought of Kay, with his delicate stomach, forced to eat whatever he can find, to drink from puddles or drains, in this weather.  It’s enough to make him want to weep; Kay going hungry, Kay maybe lying weak and exhausted somewhere, alone, frightened and lost.  Thinking himself abandoned a second time.

He would never, never have done this to Kay.  His only friend.  Only good friend, anyway.  It is breaking his heart, this search, this helplessness; this not-knowing. 

A nightmarish moment of clumsiness, and the noise of the overflying aircraft, and then that fucking asshole screaming at his kid on the towpath, making everyone jump; it was just one too many factors all at once and suddenly the collar-chain slipped as he twisted to try and pull Kay away; and that was it, his dog was running, running, _running_ , like all the devils of hell were after him.  Running, and gone. 

He’s called the council every day, called Battersea Dogs’ Home and the RSPCA and every other animal charity in the telephone directory, has checked pounds in the boroughs to either side of Richmond and stuck up his sorry little home-made signs on every street-lamp and fence-post he can find.  They blow away, they bleed into dirty unreadable blots, they fade to white or are creased and shredded by the wind.  It’s pointless; but he has to go on.

It’s been more than two weeks now.  It feels like trying to face a death, with all the added misery of ignorance.  It’s the agony of losing someone, knowing this was a person who gave themselves into his hands, into his care, who trusted him when their trust had already been betrayed too many times. 

Kay had come to him from Battersea, terrified and angry after years of ill-treatment, and had blossomed into a smart dog with a distinct, deliberate character.  Those single thoughtful tail-wags, that occasional two-stroke bark, _guau-guau_ , like a dog in a child’s picture book, had been given so carefully, so loyally, just to him.  They’d been almost like brothers, the two of them beaten but not broken, recovering together.

And he may never know what happened, which is somehow the worst of all.  He promised Kay he would always take care of him, and he knows the dog believed him; and he’s betrayed that trust.

On the Monday of the third week he prints off a new set of the posters at work; buys another packet of clear plastic sleeves in Rymans on the way home, and sets off to trail round the streets near the Green and either side of Richmond Bridge, removing the ruined ones and sticking the replacements up.  One more week, he promises.  He’ll give it one more week.

At the end of one more week, he promises himself he’ll give it one more.  If he gives up on Kay, if he gives up now, he can never forgive himself. 

**

On the way back to Jyn’s they buy a couple of cans of dog food.  A basic kind, supermarket own label, nothing fancy.  And a bag of dog kibble, and another of bonio biscuits. 

There really isn’t room in the tiny studio flat for two adults and an animal this size.  There’s only just room for Jyn’s basic collection of furniture and her stacks of books.  But Bodhi sets to work in the kitchen area to prepare a risotto and Jyn sits on the floor with Random Dog.  She watches as he eats half a can of Sainsbury dog-meat out of a Pyrex pie plate, and crunches up three bonios, as he drinks another dish of water dry, and flops down beside her with a contented sigh and his damp grey chops on her knee; and she knows she’s in love.

“What’s your name, then, handsome boy?” she asks, rubbing those soft ears again.

“You know he isn’t going to answer you.  He doesn’t speak English.”

She chuckles quietly, getting up to join him at the counter, but looking back at her new friend as she opens the cupboard for more ingredients.  “Maybe he speaks something else.”  A can of tomatoes, a stock cube, a packet of Arborio rice…  “ _Ciao, bello_?” 

"Italian, Jyn ? – really?”

“Yeah, right, maybe French is more his thing.  _Bonjour, mon vieux_ …” The dog stares briefly and closes his eyes.  “Or how about _Ela, pame, kallo skyllo_!”

“Unbelievable.” Bodhi starts to crush half a dozen cloves of garlic.  “I’m actually hearing this.  You’re speaking Greek to a dog.  Want me to try Urdu next?”

“Or what about ¿ _Hola_?  ¡ _Hola, perro_!  ¿ _Que tal_?”

“You have officially gone crackers.”

But Random Dog has opened his eyes and lifted his head.  Jyn meets his blue gaze and purses her lips.  He really does have a most considering expression, this dog.  “Don’t laugh, but that got a reaction,” she says.  “¡ _Guapo perro_!  ¿ _Que quieres_?  ¿ _Que_?”

He sighs again, for all the world as if embarrassed by her pronunciation, then slowly gets his forelimbs under him and heaves himself up off the floor.

Walks over, to lay his muzzle against her leg and stand, swaying slightly, like a child happy to hold someone’s hand at the end of a long day.

“Oh my God,” Bodhi says.  “You’ve found a Spanish-speaking dog.”

The onions and garlic sizzle in the big paella pan, and they both stand staring at Random Dog.

“Could I adopt him, do you s’pose?”

“No.  No, Jyn, you don’t have room.” 

“He likes me, and he’s lonely.”

“You _fed_ him, of course he likes you.  And he is lonely, I’ll grant you that.  Isn’t there a no-pets policy here, anyway?”

“No, funnily enough.  I’ve been meaning to get a cat; but I’ve fallen for this beautiful boy.  I’ve fallen so hard, Bodhi…”

“He _is_ a beautiful boy, I know; but he’s a _big_ beautiful boy and you live in one room and a bathroom the size of a cupboard.  And someone is looking for him, I just know they are.”

“I’ll take him to the vet,” she promises.  “On Monday, after work.  I’ll get them to check if he’s microchipped and if he is I’ll make sure he gets back home.  But if he isn’t; I know it’s mad, but – I can get home in ten minutes at lunch, take him across the road for a quick run while I eat and still be back at the shop on time.  I can walk him before work and after work.  I can feed him, it’s not as though I live up to my income.  It’s worth trying.  Otherwise it’s the council, and the pound.  And then who knows what, if no-one collects him?  You know as well as I do that animal homes sometimes have to put healthy dogs to sleep if they can’t rehome them.  I want to give this a try.  Give him a chance, like Saw gave us a chance when we were little.  Look at him, Bodhi.  He trusts me.”

“He does, doesn’t he?”

“Dogs know.  They can tell you mean them well, they have a sixth sense.  He knows I’ll be good to him.  Won’t I, Placido?”

“ _Placido_?”

“As in Domingo.  He’s got to have a Spanish name, don’t you think?  Javier.  Pablo Casals.  Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar.  Albondiga.”

“This is bonkers even for you.  How about Merluza?”

“Merluza?  Bodhi, please…”

“That coat pattern is called merle, so why not?”

“But Merluza, really?  He looks like a fish to you?”

“Pff, you just suggested Meatball…”

Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar Javier Pablo Casals Hake Meatball heaves another deep sigh, and lies down again.  Spreading out his long limbs across the floor at their feet, he falls asleep.

**

It’s been five weeks.  Then six. 

He’s taken down the posters, and thrown them away, and replaced them, twice more; and finally has swallowed his grief enough to walk round the borough one more time, taking them down and not replacing them.  Cassian Andor has betrayed someone who trusted him, yet again; and yet again, he’s going to have to live with it.

He’s taking the shortcut past Richmond Theatre, heading towards the office, when he notices one he missed, flapping on a telegraph pole by the railway bridge.  Feels slightly sick for a moment as he crosses the road to remove it.

Just as he gets there, a young man coming the other way stops and takes it down.

_Mierda._

“Ah, excuse me?  Sorry, may I have that?  It’s my notice, I didn’t mean to leave it up, it’s out of date…”

The stranger is looking at Kay’s picture with a faint frown.  “Hey,” he says, and even in that one word there’s a distinct US accent.  “This looks like my friend’s dog.”

He’s several years younger than Cassian, in fact probably not much more than a teenager; a short, smiling-faced blond guy with that open-faced sincerity, that everyone-loves-me look, some American youngsters have.  He looks kind of like a puppy himself, and his eyes are almost as blue as Kay’s.

“He can’t be your friend’s dog,” Cassian says gruffly “because he’s mine.  He got lost and I’ve been trying to find him.  But it was weeks ago and I have to accept he’s gone and he’s not coming back and he’s probably dead, so please may I have the poster?  Thank you.”

“No, but – wait – but – wait!”

He wants to shake the kindly fair hand off his sleeve, wants to growl like an abandoned dog himself.  “I’m on my way into work, I’m sorry, I can’t stop.”

“No, but, please! – wait –“ The American is trotting after him, his voice anxious and eager.  “Oh, man!  Will you listen to me?  I’m telling you, I’m absolutely sure that’s the dog my friend’s sister just adopted.”

Cassian stops in his tracks.  _Just adopted._

No, it can’t be.  He’s spent the last week forcing himself, disciplining himself, he’s been flogging his mind to accept this.  He can’t go off chasing after the tiniest whiff of hope again like this.  He’s just setting himself up to have to go through all that pain again.

But -

_Just adopted_ …

“Here –“  The young guy is fumbling in his pockets, pulling out a large smartphone – “I have pictures.  He’s just adorable, you know?  Here –“

No.  No, it can’t be Kay.  “If he’s _adorable_ then he’s not my dog.  Kay’s a quiet boy, he doesn’t really _do_ cute, you know?  Please let me go.”

“Wait!  Will you stop trying to run away for, like, five minutes and let me show you these pics?  Please?  What harm can it do, c’mon, man!”

_What harm can it do?  It can break my heart all over again, that’s what harm it can do.  I don’t want to see some nice happy dog that looks a bit like Kay but isn’t him, playing tricks and chasing balls and being adorable, and reminding me that I betrayed my only friend’s trust…_

The phone is thrust into his unwilling hands.  “There, what do you think?  Am I being an idiot?”

A photo of a nice, happy dog, who does indeed look very like Kay, but surely isn’t him.  Surely can’t be.  Not playing tricks, but rolling on his back and showing off his tummy, on a floor of beige carpet tiles.  Another photo; not chasing a ball, but sitting patiently, head up, by a kitchen cupboard, waiting for a plate of dog food to be lowered.

Then another photo, of the same dog submitting to being hugged by the camera’s owner and a slim, brown man with a beaming face.  The dog looks almost happy about it; so surely it isn’t Kay. 

The young man taps the screen again and brings up a video clip of the dog running after a frisbee, in a sunlit park somewhere.  There’s the rushing sound of air passing over the microphone, and a woman’s voice in the background says something muffled; but the clip is so short, and he’s moving so fast – _Kay always moved fast like that, charging about, that’s how he managed to lose me when he ran – but it can’t be, it can’t be –_

And another video.  The dog eating something out of what looks like a glass pie dish.  The woman’s voice saying “I know, he just loves the stuff, it’s crackers, he actually begged me for some so I gave him a bit and he snaffled it up!”  She laughs.  She has a loud laugh, really happy and unabashed.  “World’s first porridge-eating dog!”  The dog raises his head from the dish; he looks round and trots over to the camera, and shoves his muzzle almost onto the lens; there’s more laughter, and the picture freezes on a dark nose with a bright scar, and a pair of sapphire-blue eyes that are almost smiling.

_Dios mio..._

“Porridge is the same as oatmeal, isn’t it?” he asks, because it’s almost too much to bear, that this could really be happening.

“Yeah, it’s weird, I know, right?”

“No, it’s not.” His voice is shaking.  “I had to give him oatmeal when I first had him, it’s good for his digestion, he has a delicate stomach and rich foods upset him – and he loves it, he – he loves it - and he has that scar on his nose and - it’s him, it’s Kay!” 


	2. Reunited

They stand on the street corner, almost-but-not-quite arguing. 

“I can’t just give you her home address!”  The young man is both indignant and bashful; Cassian suspects refusing to help is not his usual mode of behaviour.  “Come on, that’s like – I mean, supposing you were a serial killer?  Anyway, it’s a privacy thing!”

“Then give her my number!” Cassian begs.  “Please – it’s on the poster!”  He presses the creased sheet of paper back on the boy.  “Please ask her to call me!”  He’s still fighting not to break down a little bit, from shock and joy and from letting go of the darkness he’s been crushing inside his heart for six long weeks.  It’s like redemption and resurrection in one.  Kay is alive.  He wasn’t hit by a car or kidnapped by dog-thieves, he didn’t starve in a ditch or drown in the Thames, he’s alive and happy and well-fed; and loved.  Saved and loved, by this unknown woman with the laugh…

“Please call her!” he pleads.  “Please let me speak to her!” 

His voice cracks on the last words; and the youngster is staring at him with something very like compassion in his face. 

“Okay, okay, hey, take it easy, man, huh?  It’s gonna be okay…” 

He moves a few paces away, dialling, and raises the ‘phone to his ear, but a moment later he frowns and says “Aww, krif…  Hey, hiya, are you there? - pick up the ‘phone, wontcha?  Okay, I guess you’re busy or something.  Hi, anyway, it’s Luke, Bodhi’s friend – it’s about your dog – it’s okay, he’s fine, I mean, I know he’s fine, he’s probably with you right now – uh – oh, this is dumb, I sound so lame - I’m gonna try Bodhi – call me back when you get this?”  He cuts the call off and says “She’s on voicemail.  I’m gonna call her brother, he’s a lovely guy, he’s gonna want to help, I just know he is, he’s just the loveliest guy.  Stay cool, yeah?”

He places a second call while Cassian fidgets.  “Bodhi, hi!  Hi, yeah, it’s Luke, it’s, it’s – yeah, I – yeah - I’m great, my – how’s your day?”  There’s a scarlet flush on his cheeks and he’s stammering and sounding slightly breathless.  On the other end of the line, an excited voice talks, fast and non-stop, and Luke blushes and says _Um_ and _Ah_ and _Wow_ at intervals, and finally manages to get out a tangled “It’s cool, that’s – I mean – I’m – yeah, wow, you were?  Oh,  hey, yeah, I’d – I’d _love_ to!” 

His voice almost squeaks on the last words; his eyes have gone very wide and his cheeks burn even hotter. 

_My **dog**_ , Cassian thinks, _what about my dog?  Please!_

Luke is biting his lips in the middle even as their outer corners crook up into a grin of delight.  “I would – I would love that so much, that’s so cool, it’d be really great! – yeah – yeah!”  He laughs, and his eyes meet Cassian’s and are sparkling with excitement. 

Cassian makes what he hopes will be recognisable as dog-related gestures. 

“Oh!  Yeah, hey, yeah – Bodhi, yeah – no – yeah, but – I, I, what I really called you about – this is so amazing – it’s about Meatball…”

_Meatball?_

“Yeah, that’s right, you see – I just met this guy, and he’s looking for him.  He’s been looking for him for weeks, he says.  Yeah, he’s the Meatball’s owner…  No, he’s really cool, and he’s so happy his dog’s okay – but the thing is, he wants to meet your sister, he wants to meet up, see if it is his dog, but he’s pretty sure it is, ‘cos of that scar on his nose – and I can’t get through to her on her cell, and I know it’s gonna break her up a bit but, you know, he’s Meatball’s real owner, so – d’you think it’d be okay if I sent him to the store?...  Oh, man, you’re an angel – I mean – uh – that’s really great, would you really do that?  Okay – no – yeah, I get you, yeah – okay, and I’m really looking forward to the weekend now, oh wow, yeah, so much, it’s gonna be great!  Bye – bye – byee! – yeah, bye!”

He’s slightly out of breath as he lowers the phone and beams at Cassian.

“Oh boy!” says Luke.  “Oh man!”  His whole face and neck are scarlet now and he’s grinning like a kid with a new toy.  “This is my lucky day too!  He asked me out at the weekend!  And he’s just the sweetest, sweetest guy and he’s got the best sense of humour, he’s just a really, really cool guy, oh my God, I got another date with Bodhi! – Oh, man, sorry, yeah, your dog, yeah.  I’m just so excited!   Sorry, yeah.  Okay, so Bodhi’s gonna keep trying to call his sis, to let her know, but you see, she usually takes him to work with her so Bodhi suggested you go there and just introduce yourself, and he’ll let her know you’re coming.  It’s gonna break her up, though, ‘cos she really loves that dog.”

It’s all about as clear as mud, but he’s pretty sure he’s got one thing clear; Kay has been adopted and Luke is going to tell him where to go to find him. _Just go with it, Cassian, just roll with the madness and try not to fall apart._ “I’m gonna call my boss, let him know I can’t come in this afternoon.  Where am I going?”

**

Jyn has been concentrating; head down, mobile off, landline off the hook, door shut.  Proper, real, professional concentration, because it’s the kind of job where you just have to put your head down and power through.  The annual tax return for the Friends of Trinity Hospice, West Ealing branch.  She planned meticulously, sorted out all the paperwork last night before going home; and now a solid morning of non-stop focus has broken the back of the work.  Because she is a champion and when she sets her mind to a job, that job gets done.

Also she has bribed herself; if more than 80% of the form is completed by one pm she can take the afternoon off.  She booked the time ahead, but if the form isn’t filled-in, she’s held the threat over her own head; she doesn’t get to take her time off.  80%, or no prize.

The trick worked.  It’s one o’clock, and she’s saving the document with only three small items still needing to be filled in.  Meatball raises his head as she allows herself a small cheer.

“Yay, walkies!” she tells him.  “Walkies for you and lunchtime for me, how does that sound?”

_Thump_.  A pause.  _Thump._   The dog scrambles to his feet, toenails clicking on the wood laminate floor.  _Thump._

That’s three of his signature move in quick succession.  The tentative single-swing tail wags are all she’s ever seen from him; but three in a row must mean he’s pretty damned happy.   Jyn pulls the ball launcher from the umbrella stand and stuffs it into her backpack.  Reaches out to rub her pet behind the ears.  He leans into her hand happily as she clips his leash on.

“Who’s my gorgeous boy, then?  Who’s my bonny lad?  ¿Que quieres?  ¿Walkies quieres?  What a surprise!  Walkies it is then!”

She opens the desk drawer and takes a handful of dog biscuits out to stuff in the pocket of her over-shirt.  Meatball doesn’t need to be fed three times a day anymore; his weight is healthy now and he’s clearly getting over the trauma of being a starving stray and – if the vet is to be believed – a dognapping victim.  But he does love his snacks, and Jyn cannot resist making him happy.

“Walkies!” she says again.

_Thump_.

**

A long bus ride and a fifteen minute walk later Cassian is outside a charity shop tucked between a Turkish grocery and a curtain store.   Friends of Trinity Hospice.  He hesitates in the doorway, seeing his reflection in the window; smooths his perpetually-untidy hair and goes in.

Five minutes later he’s out in the street again, staring up and down disconsolately.  Park, what park?  He didn’t see any park.  The woman on the counter had pointed him back the way he came.  Park?

He sets off, retracing his footsteps and steeling himself to ask for directions.  A mother with two toddlers sends him at last down a side street by a hairdressers, and at the next junction he looks left and sees –

A short figure in jeans and a dark green shirt, two hundred metres away, leading a dog.  A dark, rangy animal with a loping gait; a blue merle rough-coated greyhound.  Trotting along, nose up, eager and alert.  Kay.

They turn and pass through a set of ironwork gates, and vanish out of sight in the mass of trees beyond.

Cassian has never been a runner, much less a sprinter, but he sprints now.  He runs flailing and flapping; arrives at the park gates hoarse and gasping for breath, his leg muscles protesting and a stitch tearing at his side.  Humiliating to be so useless, he’s too out of breath to yell, and probably purple in the face, while Kay and the woman in green are already another hundred metres away.  He hangs on the railings for a second and then lurches forward, trying to force himself to run again.

But ahead of him she’s bending to let Kay off the leash.  And his dog looks round, and sees him.

**

Jyn has her earbuds in, and Rodrigo y Gabriela playing.  The sun is out and with the rest of the day to herself she can afford to give Meatball a proper midday run for once.  She shrugs off the backpack and takes out the ball-thrower.  “Ball time, sweetheart!  Look, what’s this?”

He seems distracted.  Fair enough; it’s a lovely day, there are other dogs, other people, new smells everywhere no doubt.  His eyes are bright and eager and he pulls on the lead as she unclasps it from his collar.

She fits the ball into the launcher and straightens to throw it - “Here, boy!” – and he’s gone, rushing headlong back towards the gates.  Jyn screams.

“No!  _Meatball, **no**_!”

Mattock Lane is busy at lunchtimes.  He could be under a car in seconds –

“Meatball!  _Come **back**_!”

He isn’t running out.  He’s running to a figure who has just come into the park.  A young man, dark hair, bearded.  He’s staggering  and panting wildly, looks as if he’s having a heart attack; suddenly he falls to his knees with his arms outstretched. 

Meatball bowls straight into him like a cannonball in love.

Jyn races up the path, pulling out her earbuds and yelling “Hey!  **Hey!!** What’s happening, are you okay – hey, leave him alone, you –“ _this can’t be happening, this can’t be real_ – “That’s my dog, what are you -? –“

Meatball frisks and gambols round the kneeling man, tail wagging non-stop.  _So he **can** wag properly._  He’s barking too, his sweet little bow-wow huff of a bark, _wowff-wowff_ , _wowff-wowff_...

The man is crying.  Crying and hugging him, wrapping himself around two and a half feet of rapturous wriggly dog.  They embrace.  Meatball breaks away to leap about again, then head-butts the man and stands shivering with happiness, being hugged around the neck.

_Oh God.  Oh no._

She reaches the spot, and stands over their reunion with the red leather leash trailing from her hand, and her heart breaking.

The man is full-on crying, real tears on his face.  He’s saying “Okay, okay, oh my dear precious good boy” in a choked voice.

_Dear precious good boy.  Yes, he’s all that._

“Are you –“ Jyn starts to say; and her voice cracks.  She clamps her lips shut on the sound threatening to come out, because it’s going to be a formless wail of misery and she can’t bear it…

The man raises his head for a second.  His eyes are still streaming tears, but he’s smiling.   He has a beautiful smile.  He has clear brown eyes and fine lips, and beautiful untidy dark hair.  He looks like a fucking archangel.  This really could not be any worse.  Meatball’s real owner is gorgeous.

_Get out now before this gets any more horrible.  Pre-empt the pain.  Get your leaving in before you get left._

She ought to be happy for Meatball, happy to see him reunited with this fantastically handsome man who so clearly is his original owner.  She ought to be thrilled for him, not heartbroken.  She can’t, _can’t_ , love a dog as much in one single bloody month as she did her parents, her foster-father, her home.  It’s _irrational_.  Jyn is the most rational person in London, she will be rational till her deathbed, rational if it kills her; she will be cold as steel and she **will not cry**.

“Oh my darling boy,” says the handsome man, looking back down as Meatball fawns on him, ruffling the dog’s thick coat as though stroking a lover’s hair.

She might as well not be there.

Jyn breathes.  She coils up the shiny red leather, Meatball’s lovely new leash.  _Get your leaving in before you get left, you will hurt yourself less than they can hurt you_ …  “Here, you’ll need this.  Might as well have these too.” 

She thrusts forward the lead and the handful of dog biscuits from her pocket.  The man is still kneeling and gaping up at her when her enforced calm crumbles like a wall of snow and she drops both Meatball’s leash and his snacks, and turns to hurry away with her head down.  _Don’t look, don’t see, don’t think, just get away.  Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing how much this hurts, just leave before you’re left._

She gets about a hundred metres. 

Meatball bounds into her path, almost sending her flying.  He springs onto his hind legs and plants his big front feet on her chest, with his tail thumping and his little _wowff-wowff_ bark that she’s loved so much this last month. 

She pushes him down.  Her hands and her voice are shaking.  “No, boy, no, I can’t play – gerroff, go away, no, please – you’re not mine anymore –“

_Wowff-wowff._ Meatball switchbacks, leaping between her and his original owner, who has run after him and is now trailing up, panting. 

He looks stunned and shocked, and still pretty tearful.  He loves Meatball; of course he does, how could he not?

“Go away,” Jyn tells her dog (not hers, not hers anymore).  Her voice slides up and down the octave.  “Go on, go home…”

The brown-eyed man bends double, hands on knees, catching his breath. 

Jyn points.  “Go home, boy.”  Her own tears are coming now and it feels as though her mouth is falling apart, her lips are quivering so much.  “Please.  Darling Meatball, please, just – go home.  Go home!  G-good boy.”  Yep, she’s crying.  No hiding it now.  “I can’t play with you anymore.  Go home, boy.”

She points again at the man as he straightens up, breath puffing. 

Meatball hovers between them, looking from one to the other as though he can’t quite credit their failure to see the obvious.

“Have - have you got a minute?” his real owner asks hoarsely.

_No, please don’t make chat, I can’t do small talk on a good day let alone the day I have to give up my darling adopted dog who’s made my world a brighter place every single fucking day for the last fucking_  – “I guess so,” Jyn says reluctantly.

“You’re – you’re Luke Skywalker’s new boyfriend’s kid sister?”

She blinks.  “One way of describing me.”  Seriously, on any other day that title would have had real comedy value.  And damn it, he’s even got a sexy voice, this guy; low and dark-toned, with a smoky Latin accent.  He’s all smouldering mouth and cheekbones and smile lines, and sad, beautiful eyes. 

“You’ve been looking after Kay?” He’s still panting, those fine lips parting and closing softly.

“Is that his real name?  I called him Meatball.”

“Yeah, I heard you just now.  Darling Meatball, you said.”

“Well, he is a darling.”  Her voice skitters and shakes again.  She tightens her jaw for a second.  “So his real name is Kay?  Like King Arthur’s brother?  Or ¿que tal?” 

Kay looks up at her and woofs gently.

“Like K-9,” says the man.  “From ‘Doctor Who’.  Even I wouldn’t call a dog ‘What’s up?’…”  He smiles, anxious and hopeful.  “Has he – has he been alright?  Luke said you found him about a month ago, is that right?  Was he hurt at all, has he been eating okay?”

“Christ yes, he’s been eating like a horse.” The handsome face twists in a frown, perhaps imagining Meatball – Kay – devouring a manger of hay.  “I mean, he eats plenty.  He’s got a really good appetite.  He was terribly hungry when we found him, and then he had an upset stomach for a while but the vet said that was normal after a trauma…”  She’d like to go on, be plain and factual and not a wreck of emotions, but it’s no good.  She can’t look at those beautiful eyes – at either set of beautiful eyes, dammit – and not want to sit down on the gravel path and howl.  “I’m sorry, I can’t do this –“

“Please don’t go –“

“I have to.”  Pulling a bit of dignity round herself.  “I have things I have to do this afternoon.  I’m happy he found you.  Truly I am.”

“Are you okay?”

“No.”  Dammit, no, he can’t be kind, it’ll be too much – “No, I’m not.  But I’ll be alright.”  It’s only the bitter truth, after all.  She’ll live.  “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to say goodbye.  Pretty sure it won’t be the last either.”

“You’re just going to let me take him?  You’re not gonna try and stop me?”

Jyn bites back hard words; because a man who lost his best friend so easily has no business implying she’s giving him up without adequate care, and she could lash out at this handsome, vulnerable face so easily right now; but – but  – “I am.  Why argue?  It’s obvious he adores you.”

As if he’s carefully picked his moment to disprove that, Kay turns his back on his owner and leans his nose against her leg; he sighs gustily and thumps his tail. 

“He’s trying to get you to stay,” says his owner.

More tears; damn, damn, damn.  She lets them fall, because the hell with it and the hell with him, and the hell with loving anyone or anything ever again.  She talks through them; tears, what tears?  _Fuck this_.  “I promise you, this is only because he thinks I’ve got more treats in my pocket.  I don’t, I gave you all of them.  I’ve got to go, I’m sorry.  Bye, Meatball.  I mean Kay.  Goodbye, my lovely lad.”

She turns into the sunshine, into the blinding rainbows in her lashes, and walks without direction out into the park.  Wonders how far she’ll get before she does finally fall in a heap.  She can’t remember what it was she’d planned to do this afternoon.  _Pretty sure none of it was important in the bigger scheme of things_ …

_Wowff-wowff_? comes an uncertain voice from behind her.

_Please don’t follow me again, boy, please don’t, I can’t bear it_ …

He doesn’t.  Jyn reaches a bench a decent distance off and sinks down on it, staring at her knees, trying to slow the rapid breathing of an incipient panic attack.  _You’ve done so well, you let yourself love, you let someone in, you’ve let yourself accept letting go, you’ve done so well, Jyn, shh, it’s okay_ …

Footsteps; and Kay’s real owner is standing in front of her, panting like an overstretched engine again. 

“is this seat taken?”


	3. Tea and coffee and trying to talk

Jyn can only shake her head numbly; she’s still battling not to go into full-on hyperventilating.  She scrubs her wet face with one arm as he sits down heavily beside her.

Meatball – Kay – _oh my precious good boy_ – settles on the ground, right at their feet, laying himself across their way out.  He puts his head on his front paws; rolls an eye at them both and sighs theatrically.

There’s an awkward pause.  Both she and the handsome young man are breathing slightly fast, as though aroused.  _Not a good thought, Jyn._  

_Honestly, this would be really funny – cute **and** funny - if only_…

If only.

“I think I’m in shock,” the young man says.

She spares him a tiny glance.  He’s sitting like an ancient Egyptian statue, upright and rigid with hands placed frontally on his knees, eyes staring straight ahead.  His chest heaves for breath.

He has a nice profile.

She rubs again at her tear-stained face.

He’s still panting when she looks at him again.  Poor bloke; he must have had as much of a shock as her.  Under his tan he’s gone very pale.  Suddenly Jyn wants to lay one of her hands over his; to say _It’s okay, relax, let yourself breathe slowly…_  All the things she’s been telling herself: _You’re doing so well, you’re going to be okay_ …

His breathing is getting slowly better.  She’s starting to hope he isn’t going to faint when finally he speaks again.

“I thought he was dead,” he says huskily.  “I really thought he was dead and I’ve been telling myself there was still hope but I really didn’t believe it because, my God, it’s been so long.  It’s been breaking my heart and – just – bringing up a lot of stuff – and then when I saw you, you were so far away and I had to run and – I am really, _really_ not a runner, you know?  Really, really not, in fact I hate running.  I feel kinda sick right now, from running…”

Since a man this attractive is never going to look twice at her like this, tear-streaked and with her unhappiest grumpy face on, does it matter what she says to him?  Maybe sitting still for a bit will help her slow her own stress too.  _You can do this, Jyn.  He needs to talk and maybe so do you._   “You ran for Meatb – for Kay.”

“Yeah.  I’d run twice as far for him.  And give myself a coronary, I guess!  But – look, I – I don’t know how to thank you, for taking such good care of him.  He looks so well.”

“Welcome.”  _No, really, Jyn, is that your idea of talking?_

Another pause.  At her feet, Kay gives another gentle windy sigh.

Both of them are breathing more calmly now.  The stranger’s colour is coming back.  He lifts one thin hand and flexes the fingers experimentally.  “Wow.  I felt really ill for a moment there.  Such a shock, my God…”  He turns suddenly to face her; Jyn jumps, fighting the urge quickly to face front and pretend she wasn’t looking at him.  He holds out the hand.  “I’m Cassian Andor, by the way.”

_Oh.  We’re doing this?_

_Come on, Jyn, be British.  Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.  Stiff upper lip, you wimp._

“Jyn Erso.”  She shakes the proffered hand.  A firm grip, warm strong fingers – his touch feels weirdly good, for a second it’s almost like an embrace in miniature and as he releases her slowly she feels wildly, painfully starved of contact.  But this isn’t a movie meet-cute, and that is the only time she’ll feel that warm hand touch hers.  Her mind quietens into simple sadness at the realisation.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he says again.

“Honestly, you’re welcome.  He’s been an – an absolute pleasure, I’ve loved having him –“ _swallow hard, don’t let that shaking take over again.  Be calm._ “He’s a wonderful dog – aren’t you, Meatb – Kay?”  No response; Kay has closed his eyes.

“I hope you never gave him actual meatballs?”

“No, of course not.   He’s been getting basic supermarket dog-meat and dry food, nothing fancy at all.”

“When I first had him, I saw an advert, and I gave him some canned food called Pedigree something and it was too rich for him, and –“ Cassian shudders comically.

“Ah.  I can imagine, yes…”

“Yes.”

They both look down at the sleeping dog.

“I’m going to miss him,” Jyn says.  “I know it’s not like the other goodbyes, it’s not like a – a bereavement or something – he’s well, he’s happy, he’s _going_ _home_ for God’s sake, we all want that, right? - but – I am going to miss him so much.”

“Thank you for – for not trying to fight me for him.”

“It’s okay.  You pick your fights, yeah?  I – I have to do what’s best for him and –“ _ugh, another bloody hiccup of tears, will they never stop coming back?_ – “and besides, it’s easier if you let go first.”

“Let go first?”

“It hurts less if you let go of someone you love than if you wait until they’re taken from you.”

A pause.

“A bit less, anyway,” Jyn qualifies hastily.  “Like the way hurting yourself is easier than having someone else hurt you.”

Another pause.  Perhaps that wasn’t the best way to put it.  Her words seem to have silenced him.  She wonders if she’s even making sense.

She gives Cassian another quick glance, but he’s staring down at Kay, with a strange, shaken expression.  Without looking up  he nods almost imperceptibly.  His jaw has gone very tight.

Oh.  For some reason she would never have expected this, but – he gets it.

And there’s another pause, because she really doesn’t know what to say now.

He asks hesitantly, as if it’s embarrassing him thoroughly, rather than being something he has every right to know “Did you say you’d taken him to a vet?”

“Yeah, that’s right.  She said he’d obviously been well-cared-for in the past and he was pretty healthy, apart from –“ and she hesitates too, not knowing how to address this now it’s come up.  

Cassian speaks into her pause, wincing and awkward.  “I don’t want this to sound the wrong way, but – but –“

“No, please, go on –“

“Didn’t they even look for his microchip?  Was it not working?  I just don’t understand how…”

Oh god.She is going to have to tell him.

_At least this means I can be certain he didn’t know.  It can’t have been him that did it._

“It’s – he doesn’t have one.  Anymore, I mean.  She said it had been taken out.  Cut out.”

“Cut out?”  Cassian’s face and voice both fill with horror.  “My god, what? –“

“The vet thought he must have been stolen, she called it being dog-napped – and the thieves removed it.  He had a little wound between his shoulder blades, it was clean but –“ she breaks off; Cassian has fallen to his knees again.  He bends over his dog, feeling for the scar on his back with shaking hands.  Kay raises his head, whines uncertainly.

“Shh, boy, easy, it’s okay, it’s – just let me see – oh God – oh my poor Kay, my poor, poor boy!”

He takes Kay’s head in his hands, looking deeply into the brilliant eyes, saying in a breathless voice “I’m so sorry!  This is all my fault!  Oh my precious Kay, I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you ever again, I swear to you.” He presses a kiss on the shaggy brow.  “Never ever again, I promise.”

_Thump_ ; a single swing of that cautious tail against the ground. _Thump_.  Kay wriggles his head free bashfully and looks up at her.

“Damn right,” she tells him.  “They’ll have to get through the both of us, bonny lad.”

_Thump-thump-thump_ …

_He’s wagging properly again – for me?_

“Oh, my poor Kay,” Cassian says tearfully.

He’s gone pale once more under his natural tan, and his breathing is fast; he looks almost as unwell as he did ten minutes ago in the first moments of shock.  Jyn reaches out to him awkwardly, compassion and defensiveness warring in her till her own hands shake too.  “He’s okay,” she says “it all healed up really well, he’s just got a little scar, haven’t you, Meatb-Kay?  Honestly, he’s fine now…”

“My poor, poor boy…”  Cassian crouches on the ground a moment more, than clambers to his feet unsteadily.  He passes a hand over his eyes.  “Oh God, this is – it’s too much.  I need a - a coffee.  Or something.”

He looks up at her.  Wordless emotions in those dark eyes, shock and grief and then the ghost of a smile for a second, wavering, trying to reach _normal_ again through a forest of anxiety.

“There’s a café on the corner, opposite Marks and Sparks, if you’re heading towards the Tube.”  She gestures vaguely.  She can help with this at least.  “It’s only a Prêt, but it’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’d be good, coffee or – or maybe a real drink –“ he lets out a frail breath of laughter and his eyes shine on hers, and very quickly, almost gabbling again, he says “Could I –could I buy you a coffee or a – something?”

_Holy hell.  Buy me a? - Did that just happen?_   “What? – as in – ah, I mean, yeah, okay, ah, but –“ _oh crap oh crap._ His face absolutely fell on the **what** , he really did mean it, he’s really asking can he buy her a coffee? 

_Don’t say hell or crap, don’t say it_ …  Jyn struggles to find some words to express agreement, and thanks, rather than utter, fumbling crassness.  “Just a – a cup of tea, maybe – that would be nice – that would be really nice…”

**

He found Kay again, he found Kay, he got him back; and he is okay, she said he’s okay, the vet said he’s okay; and this is the woman who rescued him, the woman from the video, the woman with the laugh, she’s here and she’s beautiful, her face is like a perfect wall of fury and love, she has the eyes of a superhero and the lips of Aphrodite.  He can’t believe today is really happening.  Any of it.  He can’t believe; any minute now he’ll wake up, any minute, any minute…

Cassian knows he’s in shock.  His heart is pounding, it seems to be gathering pace steadily, as though the running has only just begun.  He walks across the grass beside Jyn Erso, and Kay flanks her on the other side, as if keeping guard over her.  They go along the north edge of the park and through a belt of trees, past a grand house and a huge war memorial overlooking the road his bus came along earlier.  There’s a pub garden to the left, full of happy sounds of the sunny afternoon, voices and music and the chink of glasses.  He has a struggle not to suggest again that they get a proper drink, because _fuck_ could he do with one.  Not ever-so-sensible British tea but something stronger.  Something to silence the choir of his nerves, because they are singing like a beehive. 

There’s an uncomfortable moment as they reach the edge of the tree-lined green and both turn to call their dog, and Jyn breaks off and hushes herself.  For a second she looks broken, though she covers it well.  But then Kay dances happily between them, wagging madly, as if thrilled to have two humans now, and Jyn’s face opens again with a quick shaky laugh that breaks him, too.  He bends, catching at Kay’s new collar, fumbling with the red leash and its unfamiliar clip, grateful to be able to concentrate on little practical things and not have to look again at the astonishing facts of today.  Kay is alive and coming home; and this beautiful guarded woman is standing beside him, has not driven him away though she’s still faintly sniffing from her tears, at any rate she’s still here and still walking with him, and Kay is alive. 

It’s too much, all of this, happening all at once, today, it’s too intense and his heart hasn’t stopped racing yet, and he’s shaking inside.  It’s that wild feeling he’s shying away from, the familiarity of it, this violent vividness.  It hasn’t been this bad since he moved to the UK; his head ringing, blood burning with life.  The world becoming strange, a thing that verges on a scream of joy. 

He felt like a scream himself, back then when he was still at home, those hectic insane months after his release; he felt as though his entire life had been crammed through the pierced prism of fear, shredded by its diamond edges.  He was alive when he’d expected to be dead.  It’s not entirely good to feel the same now, and panic tells him it may be the PTSD again.  He’s been under stress the last few weeks, and now this jolt, this release; this escape.  It could have triggered an attack. 

But it may not be that.  It may just be the after-effects of this single shock, and if so it will fade, and he will grow calm, in time. 

_Give yourself time.  At least wait and see.  Time.  Wait._

_Have tea with Jyn Erso, find another bench, sit quietly and talk, until your heart rate has slowed and you can tell if you’re going to have an attack or just need a good night’s sleep._   _You can do it._   _Have tea, sit in the sun, talk to a beautiful woman, and love your dog.  You are alive.  You are safe in London.  Nothing is wrong and no-one is going to harm you._

They’re almost at the door of the café before he remembers he can’t take Kay inside.  But he can leave him, completely safely.  He hands Jyn the leash.

“Please will you hold him?”

Her eyes go very bright for a moment and he can almost see her bite down on something she was going to say, and then she nods.  Her fingers curl into the loop of leather, and they brush against his for a second before he lets go.  The touch feels electric, his breath quickens for a moment.

He asks “Just regular tea or something else?”  _Focus on the task, the activity of now.  Buying tea._

_And a sandwich, my God, I’m ridiculously hungry._

_If I’m hungry, maybe I’m going to be okay.  That doesn’t usually happen with an attack.  Please let me be okay…_

“Earl Grey, please?” says Jyn.  “No milk, no sugar.”

Focus on the – ugh, tea with no milk or sugar…  Well, it must be a British thing.  An even-more-British thing than just drinking tea in the first place.  “Okay.  Can I get you a – a pastry or anything?”

“Just tea is fine,” says Jyn Erso, holding Kay, looking up at him with the sunlight reflected in her face. 

Her eyes are the most extraordinary colour, sea-green with flecks of hazel-brown that seem to shift in the sun.  Very faintly, very cautiously, she smiles at him. 

It’s suddenly easier to focus on now.  His heartbeat is a steady drum, still beating hard but no longer gathering speed.  He’s alive and he isn’t going to have an attack.

Ten minutes later they are back in the park; because when he came out of the café Kay immediately stopped pointing his nose at the door, and turned straight round and pointed back the way they’d come, and pulled.  They both laughed, and then had no choice but to go where he wished, because he’s the only reason for any of this.

“He hasn’t really had his lunchtime walk and he knows it,” Jyn remarks. 

“He’s a good boy, but he knows his rights,” Cassian says. 

She’s carrying the big paper cup he handed her; he’s got his regular strong black coffee with three sugars, and a bag with a chicken and salad wrap and a couple of raspberry muffins.  She keeps hold of the leash and the eager Kay tugs her back beneath the trees, past the pub, the big house, the war memorial.  It’s a happy sight, someone loving and helping his dog, walking with him and letting him steer the way.  Jyn and Kay both look comfortable and he can tell they are at home  with one another; comfortable and somehow right, together. 

“I dropped the ball-thrower like an idiot,” she says.  “Wonder if it’s still there?” 

She unclips the leash and they head back into the open grassy centre of the park, towards the place where he’d seen them when he arrived.  Kay bounds up to something on the ground, grabbing it up and gambolling over to them with it.

“Clever lad!”

And they’re back at the same bench where they started, twenty minutes ago.  The sun is right in their faces now, bright through the flickering leaves, but he doesn’t put on his sunglasses.  He wants to be able to see them both; and for them to see him. 

Jyn rummages in the capacious backpack she seems to use as a purse, and retrieves a lime-green tennis ball.  She passes it to him; and there it is again, that tiny cautious smile, making his heart ache with its shyness.  He fits the ball into the cup of the thrower and launches it into the air, and Kay gives a rapturous _guau-guau!_ and sets off in pursuit.   

They sit watching him race for his ball, time after time, blissfully happy in the endlessly repeated chase.  At the end of each run he stops, dropping the ball at their feet, and swings his head back as if checking the distance he’s covered; and then looks around at whichever of them has picked up the launcher, eying them up with his head on one side. 

Cassian loves him very much at moments like these.  Kay’s ears prick up keenly and the tufts of hair above his eyes twitch.  It looks almost as though he’s trying to calculate the likely angle of the next throw.

_Breathe easy and be glad.  Look at today; who could have guessed when you stepped onto the bridge this morning to take down that beaten-up poster, that this afternoon you’d be sitting in a park with your precious Kay back, and a beautiful woman beside you, and a picnic in the sun?_

He unwraps the packaging of his sandwich; looks at Kay; who is looking at Jyn, and at the ball, and at Jyn, and back at the ball, with his tail measuring out trust and hope on a slow, steady swing.

On impulse Cassian offers her half the chicken wrap.

“Oh,” she says “Um, well, in theory I’ve got food at home, but…”

She’s wavering.  He tells her “The filling smells almost like the real thing, I think there’s genuine chipotle in it –“ and suddenly her hand comes up, hesitates, and takes the half flatbread he’s holding out. 

“If you’re really sure – it does smell good, you’re right…”

They eat and take turns to scoop the ball up and throw it again for Kay.

“How long have you had him?” she asks.

“I got him when I moved here, so it’s almost eighteen months now.  He was kind of a therapy for me.  He’d been ill-treated and I had – it was good for me to care for someone –“ he breaks off.

She doesn’t ask anything else immediately, although he’s just as good as given himself away.  _Here I am, mental and emotional train-wreck, hi, good to meet you_ …

Jyn looks at him and takes another bite, and eats, thinking, nodding her head very slightly.  Out of nowhere he has the oddest feeling that she knows what he’s been through already.  There’s an acceptance in her face, the calm way she considers him, without judgement.  As though she has some intuition of past trauma.  Picking up the pain in his words, or the tension in his voice, perhaps.  Yet she avoids any kind of direct question, with a delicacy that touches him.

“Where did you live, before London?”  The question sounds awkward, but her voice is kind, and shy.

“Mexico City.  That’s my home.  Do you – do you mind if I talk about this?”

“Go ahead,” says Jyn.  Such a blunt name for someone who seems so gentle under her guardedness.  Jyn Erso.  “It’s okay.  You fed me, so – it’s fine.”

He wants to talk about it, he wants to and he doesn’t, but someday he’ll have to, so – “I was – I’m a journalist, I used to work for La Alianza Rebelde, it’s a left-wing national paper –“ he really wants to talk about it, but – but – “and then – I was working on an investigative piece and –“ his throat feels tight, the words are coming out wrong, they feel hard as pebbles on his tongue and pretty soon he’ll be struggling to breathe; and he says “I’m sorry, this is really hard to talk about but – but –“

“It’s okay.”  There it is again, that understanding in her eyes; she knows, she knows somehow, surely he can trust her, he has to, he wants to so much but – “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to” she says gently.

He can trust her; she knows it is trust that’s the key, the core, this woman who loves Kay and understands self-inflicted defensive pain, she _knows_ – but –

“I do want to, it’s just that it’s hard, I’m sorry, I…”

Kay has come back yet again, ball in jaws, panting; he stops, watching Cassian.  He knows too; knows this tone of voice, that tightening, fading sound; probably knows the very smell of unhappiness.  He comes closer carefully, to lay the ball at Cassian’s feet and his head on Cassian’s knee.  Cassian breathes and listens to the unsteadiness of his heartbeat. 

_Not this time.  Better to accept it._

“I’m sorry.  I’ve had some bad experiences.”  He rubs the dog’s ears; that comforting rough coat under his hands, the patient companion, contemplating him in silence and never judging him.  “I really do want to talk about it but it’s hard.  I don’t think I can right now.  I’m sorry.”

Jyn is nodding, and it doesn’t look phoney.  Her gaze is as gentle and considering as Kay’s.  “Yeah.  I – I’ve had – yeah, bad experiences, too – I have – an idea – how hard it is to talk about.  It’s okay.  It’s okay.”

“I have to talk about it someday.” His voice sounds almost angry in his own ears, shaking as he tries to push on through.  Tries, and fails.

“But it’s okay if that’s not today.”

“I feel so weak when I can’t.  Fuck, I – I can’t…”

“It’s okay.”

And it isn’t okay, and they both know it, even Kay knows it – but somehow knowing it together, it _is_. 

He trusts her.  It’s weird, but there is something right about it.  Comfortable, even in this moment of intense discomfort.  She isn’t trying to make him stop, or feel bad, or hide himself. 

“You’ll talk when you can,” Jyn says.  “That’s how it works, at least I think it is, I’m no therapist but…”

She drains the last of her tea and reaches over to rub Kay’s flank.  Cassian is still scratching him behind the ears.  Both his humans petting him; the dog’s eyes slide closed in bliss.

“I was wondering…”  Cassian swallows a swig of his coffee, relaxes his throat consciously, takes a deep breath.  He looks across at Jyn, and she is watching Kay, with a smile of such love that his heart stutters at the sight; and then steadies.  He can talk to her.  One day.  He can - “I was wondering if you’d like to walk him sometimes?  At weekends, maybe?  We could share some of the time with him?  If you’d like?”

“You’re looking for a dog-walker?”  Jyn sounds confused, her guard going up again; her hand drops away from Kay’s side quickly. 

It hurts, to hurt her.  He rushes on.  “No, no, but – I feel so bad, taking him from you when it’s so clear that you – you and he have really bonded, haven’t you?  It just feels so wrong to separate you.”

The silence goes on long enough that he fears, and then knows, that he’s gone too far.  _Damn, damn_ , **_damn_**...  It had felt so good, to have skirted round having a full-blown PTSD attack, but now he’s reacted too far the other way in the surge of relief, and – if he’s blown this then -

“I’d like that,” Jyn says.  Her voice is very low.  So shy, so unsure.  “If – if you really want to – it’s okay if you – if you change your mind, you don’t have to, I don’t expect anything of you, but – but – I would like that.”

She looks up at him, with those astonishing sea-coloured eyes.

Tremolo and frail and alive, Cassian’s heart sings.  


	4. These are my friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jyn, Cassian and Kay have a first almost-date...

They’ve been texting one another for a week.

Their messages have gone from cautious through neutral, through borderline, to friendly.  He has her brother’s number now as well, _in case of emergencies_ ; and since the only family contact he could provide in return is his father back in Coyoacán, he’s given her the general office number at the Rich and Twick instead; _or as everyone says I call it, the Reach and Tweak_.

_\- Yr accent’s not that thick_ she texts back.  _Rude they are_.

\- _Inverted grammar?_

\- _Aargh, bad habit – picked up from B who’s picked up from his new boyf who’s picked up from his guru.  Master Yoh Da.  He’s nice but a bit odd._

\- _I see.  I think._

Smiley face - _Sorry if you hate those things._

\- _What things?_

Smiley face smiley face smiley face - _These_.  Winky face.

\- _Not a problem_.  Smiley face.

\- _My foster father said over time emojis wd become a separate language in their own right_.

_\- Interesting thought._

They’re chatting in text messages, like friends, like people with no worries or walls between them, people who can be at ease around one another.  She makes him laugh, and in her defensive way she’s as warm as anyone he’s ever met, and as kind.  He’s looking forward so much to seeing her again, on Saturday.

They’ve arranged to meet in Richmond, beside the bust of Bernardo O’Higgins.  It’s an overcast day, mild and breezy, and the little sloping garden between the river and the bridge is busy with people and bright with summer bedding plants.   

Cassian has brought drinks for them both.  One sweet black coffee, one black earl grey tea.  He’s standing under the plane trees, looking up towards the main road and the cinema, when Kay suddenly pulls hard the other way, downslope, towards the riverside.  Jyn is coming under the landward arch of Richmond Bridge, wearing jeans and sensible sandals, and a soft pale blouse with a neckline that shows her collarbones.

Kay barks, _guau-guau_! – and she looks up and beams.  The river behind her is silvery in the muted light.  She quickens her pace and comes up through the terraced gardens at a near-run.  Reaching them she hovers, smiling wordlessly at Cassian before bending to greet the delighted Kay.

“Who’s a good boy?  Who’s a _good_ boy, then?  Who’s a lovely bonny boy?”  

Kay springs and puts his front feet on her midriff, and drops, and bounds again.  _Guau-guau, guau-guau_ – and Jyn hugs him happily.

He’s grinning at them both like an idiot when she looks up again.  The wind in the trees makes a soft sound, like waves passing by far overhead.  The voices all around blur into a formless weekend buzz of happiness.  Jyn smiles.  Kay wags his tail furiously.

It’s such a simple thing, and it’s been so long since he’s thought it, but – _I have friends.  These are my friends._

**

Her clothes are speckled with dust and grass clippings and dog hair already.  So much for trying to look a scrap less scruffy than usual.

_Serves you right.  You’re picking up the dog for a walk, silly.  It isn’t a **date**._

When she straightens again, Cassian is holding out a cardboard cup tray with two drinks in it.

“The one nearest you is tea.”

“Oh, God.”  She ought to say _no thank you_ ; would have done, if he’d asked in advance; but – _no, don’t do that, don’t wall him out, you’re friends now, right?  You’re shutting him out and he isn’t angling to hurt you or leave you, Jyn stop it_ – “Thank you.”

The sweet perfume of tea and bergamot reaches her as she takes the cup.  “You angelic man.”  He remembered earl grey.

She prizes the plastic lid off.  He remembered earl grey _and_ he remembered no milk.  She’s suddenly ridiculously happy, knowing that when she tastes it, there’ll be no sugar either.  He notices things, he remembers things.

Cassian is smiling at her, as if sharing a drink of Costa Coffee’s finest with her is the best possible way to start Saturday.

He’s more smartly dressed than before; a casual jacket over a burgundy jumper, suit trousers, nice shoes; his hair looks more combed, too, though the breeze is messing it up rapidly. He must be going on somewhere.  He’s bound to have plans, after all, it’s the weekend and he’s letting her have Kay.  “You must have plans, I – I –“ but what can she say that won’t be appallingly rude? _I-don’t-want-to-keep-you is only a fancier way of saying you-can-fuck-off-now; ugh, what am I doing?_ “Please don’t feel you have to –“

“No plans.”  He’s shaking his head.  Dark hair flopping forward, blowing everywhere, almost going in his eyes.  She’d like to reach up, brush it back.  She squashes her hands into her jeans pockets.  “No plans,” Cassian repeats.  He’s smiling bashfully.  He’s handing her the leash.  “I just wanted you two to see each other.  I – I’m not doing anything in particular, I’m not trying to – to get rid of you…”

Can he really be - ? – “Would you like to walk with us?” she asks, before the words get away and hide inside her behind all her shields and fears and defences.

His smile is so uncertain now that she almost backtracks; and then he manages to say “I’d like that, if – if it’s okay…”

“He’s your dog,” Jyn says quickly.  “It’s okay.”

“You don’t mind?”

“It’s okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”  It is.  It really is okay.  She can’t remember when she last wanted so much to be friendly.  Cassian seems so gentle and so eager.  And Kay trusts him, and trusts her; and trust goes both ways.  A dog’s judgement is absolutely trustworthy.  So she trusts Cassian.  “I’d like it if you would.  If you want to.”

They’re each as nervous as the other, after all.  Unless this is going to be the ongoing state of affairs forever, they will have to move past these nerves and this constant awkwardness.  All the second-guessing and apologising and reassuring one another.  There is, there has to be, a way through.  She trusts him.  She can do this.

Kay is easily the most self-assured of the three of them, that’s for sure.  But Cassian isn’t pushy, and she gets so many vibes of insecurity and honesty, and kindness-after-hurt, from him.  And the sweetness of his smile is like a friendly touch.  It’s like being back in her foster home again, holding out her terrified hand to an equally terrified Bodhi; reaching out and finding a person who could be a home.  Like that childhood hand taking hers, giving her courage in the face of all trouble.

Kay trusts him; she trusts Kay; he trusts Kay.  They’re standing here smiling bashfully at one another, on the say-so of a dog.

“Okay.”  _Oh God, oh crap, how many times have I said Okay to him now?  He must think I’m such a nitwit.  Or whatever the Mexican equivalent of nitwit is._   “Which way do you want to go?”

“It’s your walk, you choose?”

“Maybe we should let Kay choose?”

“That’s how all of this started, Kay deciding where he was gonna go…”

“Oh.  Ah.  Okay.” _Nooo, stop saying that_ … “Okay, not such a great idea.  Fine, how about we go upriver on the towpath to Kew Bridge and then –“ _go on, you can do it_ “maybe go to one of the pubs on Kew Green for coffee or a quick half of something?”

_I said it.  Shit I just asked him out.  Kind of.  Shit **shit SHIT**_ –

But Cassian is grinning; really grinning, broadly, like a man given a terrific gift out of the blue; and he bites his lips and says “Yeah, that sounds great!” with real enthusiasm.

She swallows and takes a breath.  _Going for a walk with my new friend.  That’s all.  Come on, Jyn, walk, move the feet and legs, that’s it._

They circle awkwardly round one another for a moment, neither seeming to know quite where to go, looking into one another’s faces instead of at the path. 

Kay tugs on the leash again before things can get too idiotic, and she manages to laugh; and they walk.

_It’s going to be fine, Jyn, relax._

They’ve been chatty enough by text message, after all; getting friendlier, getting more jokey, even getting almost-very-nearly-not-quite flirtatious at times.  It’s simpler, of course, doing all of those things in writing; you have time to think what to say, time to compose your words carefully and rewrite till you’re sure you’re saying it right.  No-one can hear your tone of voice or see the naked flickers of real emotion in your eyes.  It’s not quite acting a part, more like presenting your best self as a disguise.  But nonetheless, several days of that; it’s a degree of trust established, and that’s the key thing, isn’t it, that trust?

He tried to tell her about his panic attack.  If that’s not trust, what is?  If she told him about hers, he’d understand. 

Someone else besides Bodhi understands her, at last.

_There are now three people in my life – well, two people and a dog - who will never tell me to just snap out of it._

It feels wonderfully peaceful.  She wants to open her arms and hug him.  Would he be pleased, or horrified?  _Early days, Jyn, don’t be creepy.  How would you react if he did that to you?_

_Actually…_

_Calm down, woman._

The river’s running high, and for a while they chat about that.  That brings them onto flood risk, an oddly clinical topic of conversation, and not terribly cheerful.  Then to extreme weather.  Then, climate change. 

Which at least brings the blessed relief of realising they’re on the same page as regards the environment.  The same page as regards to politics, too.

But then all too quickly comes more awkwardness as the conversation slides from politics back to flooding and onto natural disasters in general, and has to be slid back off the subject again, while Jyn squirms inside thinking about her privilege as someone whose country has seldom known an earthquake higher than 4 on the Richter Scale and never had a true hurricane.

Then further awkwardness when he innocently slides the subject back again purely in order to apologise for it, and she apologises too, and they stare at one another. 

_Silence, and it’s an awkward silence, please God, no…_

_Calm.  Down.  Jyn._

She waves her paper cup nervously and suddenly thinks to say “Thank you for remembering earl grey, by the way, I really appreciate it.”

“Tea, earl grey, hot.” His voice has gone crisp, as if he’s as delighted as her to get away from the natural disasters; it sounds almost-familiar and then she realises: he’s mimicking Jean-Luc Picard, albeit with a different sexy accent to Patrick Stewart’s rolling tones.

“You’re a Trekkie as well as a Whovian?  You really do like your Science Fiction, don’t you?” 

“I do.”  The grin she gets from him is sidelong and bashful and incredibly sweet.  “And Star Wars too.  I love all my Sci-Fi.  Movies, books, TV.  Not so much comics, there’s just too many out there and some of the storylines are crap.  I only follow a few.  Like Saga – have you read Saga?”

“Is that something Norse?”

“Norse?  You mean, like, Vikings?  No, it’s about two common soldiers from opposing armies in a great space war, who fall in love and desert from their forces to be together, and they have a little girl, and lots of adventures, and meet amazing people; and it’s funny and heart-breaking and has fantastic art work, and - sorry, I love Saga very much.  It’s space opera with a heart as big as the galaxy.  I wanna be Marko.  If they ever film it he should be played by a Mexican actor.”

“Okay,” says Jyn, sorting through that information dump in her head.  “It – sounds good.  I don’t do graphic novels at all, sorry.”

“I’m such a nerd, I’m sorry.”

He sounds awkward again, and they’re back to this apology game.  She hurries to reply. “There’s nothing wrong with liking Sci-Fi.  At least I hope there isn’t!  I used to scour the library for anything new in that section when I was a teenager.   Still do.  I’ve read some shite, it’s true.  But also some fabulous stuff.  Ursula Le Guin.  Ann Leckie.  Frank Herbert.”  She hesitates, takes a deep breath.  Some SF nerds despise anything with swords and magic with a deep and abiding passion.  But this is Cassian, so she’ll say it, and see. “And fantasy.  Katherine Kerr.  Juliet Marillier.”  

“And the Lord of the Rings, maybe?” 

“Yep, that too.  Although - the books more than the movies.  The films are great but at the same time, they get one or two things _so_ wrong that it kind of jars a bit more each time I see them…”

There’s a tiny pause, just long enough for her to think reflexively _And now we argue about fictional people;_ and then he says “Oh my God, yes.  Oh my God.  It’s such a relief to hear you say that.”

Jyn’s smile returns; it’s pushing itself onto her face again every time she tries to control it, like an unruly puppy.  She’s grinning more and more stupidly as they walk on, and they’re picking apart Peter Jackson’s six Tolkien films, discussing the good bits, the great bits, the misjudgements and the screw-ups, and agreeing with one another so much and so thoroughly that pretty soon she can’t remember which of them it was who said what; they’re saying “Yeah, yeah!” and “Oh my God yes!” so often and with such emphasis it sounds like the responses from a ritual.

Kay bounds ahead and races back to them, a hurtling hairy bolt of lightning.  A group of small ducks float by on the Thames and he barks at them, wowff-wowff, as if trying to challenge them for possession of the water.  He runs into the water’s edge, for all the world as though he would seriously consider diving in, though she’s sure he has more sense.  The ducks ignore him and after a while Cassian says “They don’t believe you, you know, Kay…” and Kay gives him a glance so withering she laughs aloud at them both.  And they walk on in the sunshine, among the joggers and bicycling families, and all the other dog-walkers, talking.  Talking and talking, and laughing, and on the same page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The places - Richmond Bridge, the little public garden with the bust of Bernardo O'Higgins, the towpath along the banks of the Thames - are all real. There are four pubs on Kew Green; The Coach and Horses, The Botanist, The Cricketers and The Greyhound. I hope you can guess which one they went to! (Hint - The Greyhound is the nicest of the four and is very dog-friendly...).  
> The comic Cassian mentions, Saga, by Fiona Staples and Brian K Vaughan, published by Image Comics, is a superb SF graphic novel series which as far as I know sadly is very unlikely ever to be filmed (because the creators don't want it to be). I know what my dream cast would be for the two main characters, Marko and Alana, though...


	5. Dogs r allowed!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wd be so great if u cd come..."   
> Jyn asks Cassian to the local open-air music festival.

_\- RU doing anything next Friday after work?  Want to join me and K for evening walkies?  We cd go to that pub we liked, the one named after him, afterwards._

_\- I’m at a music festival with Bodhi & Luke.  _

_\- OK.  Another time._

_\- You want to join us?  It’s local.  All day Fri-Sat-Sun in Walpole Park.  Where we first met.  Ealing Music Fest.  World Music Fri, then C &W all-day Sat & Classical Sunday.  _

_\- Not really into C &W.  At all._

_Me neither but Luke likes it & says he’ll convert me.  Friday shd be grt tho, World Music day is the best.  Please come!  Dogs r allowed!_

_\- I’m working._

_\- Ok. Never mind._

_\- Sorry._

_\- It’s okay.  Would have been nice but.  It’s ok._

Cassian sat looking down at his phone.  She was right.  It would have been nice.  It would have been better than nice.

_\- Maybe I could get day off?  I might be owed some.  Will check._

_\- It wd be grt to see u if you’re really sure.  Music is sure to be terrific on Fri.  Also B wd love to see K again.  Only be prepared for him to call him meatball._

_\- B = Bodhi = ¿your brother, no?_

_\- He’s lovely.  He’ll like u.  You’ll like him.  Wd be so great if u cd come.  But it’s okay if u can’t, I understand._

He wants to come.  It would be so good to see Jyn again before the weekend.  And Kay would like it too, he’s sure of that. 

Davits Draven isn’t a particularly difficult man, just impatient.  And sharp-tongued.  And disinclined to suffer fools, gladly or otherwise.  He’s a good boss in many ways, provided you can work round these qualities.  Cassian’s relationship with him is fine as a rule.  He certainly doesn’t want to get in his bad books, but surely one single day off won’t be too much of a problem?

He barely hesitates before texting again.

_\- Will ask abt annual leave._

**

Draven’s expression when he asks isn’t a good start.

“This coming Friday?  Friday of this week?”

“Yes.  It’s –“ this looks bad, he doesn’t want to backtrack but that’s not a happy face – “it’s just the one day, sir.”

“Just the **one day**?”

_Joder._   “It’s okay if it’s not possible, I just thought I’d ask, just in case.  I’m sorry to have bothered you, sir.”

“Oh for god’s sake.”  The deputy editor of the Richmond and Twickenham Times glares at him and he falls silent.  “Stop calling me sir, I’m not a bloody schoolmaster for crying out loud.  And of course you can have bloody Friday off, it’s just that – Andor, look, is that seriously all the leave you’re ever going to request?  A single day or half day every five or six months?”

“Sir?”

“I just asked you to stop calling me sir!”

“Sorry?” Cassian hazards after a pause.  Draven sighs, his mouth turning down even more than usual.

“No, I’m sorry.  It’s just – you do know you’re allowed to take your annual leave, don’t you?  I know a lot of workplace cultures in the USA have this weird thing that it’s considered unprofessional to take time off, but you’re not from the States so I don’t get why you – Andor, you’ve been working here almost a year and a half and you’ve had barely two weeks off in that time.  Your annual leave allowance is 20 days per annum and you are allowed to take it all.  You’re _expected_ to.”

“But I thought –“ Cassian’s words wrap themselves round his tongue; he feels blindsided by an attack that seems to be phrasing itself as somehow in his favour.  He has no idea what to say or what’s expected of him now.  “I’m sorry.  I understood when I asked to carry leave over that it was allowed.”

“You can carry eight days maximum over till the next year.  Which you did.  And you have now used those eight days, and two and a half days of this year’s allowance.  Three and a half, if we count this coming Friday.  Leaving you with sixteen and a bloody half days of this year’s annual leave to use up.  Of which you can, if you really want to, carry over eight till next year, again.  That would give you twenty-eight days leave to use up next year, again; and if you don’t use up the rest of this year’s allowance by the end of August – the end of next month, Andor – then you’ll lose it.”

“I just – I don’t really have anything to do with time off.”

“Can’t you – I don’t know – go on holiday or something, like everyone else?” Draven snaps.

“But I did - I went home to see my Dad…”

“For just one week!  All the way to Mexico City, all that jet-lag, for one week!  Why don’t you go home for a fortnight every year, like Marcim?  You used five days annual leave to go all the way to Mexico and you’ve had just a handful of single days off otherwise, in eighteen months.  It’s not healthy.”

“Am I in trouble?”  Cassian is bewildered, hurt, and irritated, in roughly equal measures.  “It is my decision, isn’t it, when to have time off?” 

Draven groans.  “Yes, it is.  And – look - I’m sorry for losing my rag.  But the thing is, everyone needs to have some R&R, Andor, even you.  I’m sorry, I’m coming at this in totally the wrong way, the cat threw up on my bed in the middle of the night and I’m not feeling at my best after having to get up and clean that up and look after him but I do know it isn’t fair to dump on you.  But - I just - I know how dedicated you are, but – you can take time off.  Truly.  West London isn’t going to fall apart if it has to go without an update on our MP’s latest idiocy and the dodgy dealing on the council for a couple of weeks.  Please take those eight-and-a-half days before the end of August.  Please.”

Since he’s gathered now that _Yes, sir_ is not a good response ( _and why have you never told me this before? – am I meant to read your mind? **Sir**?) _ Cassian takes a moment and then says simply “Yes.”

“Good.” 

“Okay, yes.  I’ll do that.”

“And my apologies for going off on one.  Four hours’ sleep and – well, cat-sick.”  Draven waves a hand vaguely.  “He’d eaten something - Sorry.”

“It’s okay.  And – I can definitely have this Friday?”

“Yes!”

“That’s awesome, sir, thank you – sorry, I said sir again, sorry!”

He gets back to his desk, not knowing whether to laugh or kick himself or cry at the scene he’s just taken part in.  It is comical, on balance.  He’ll let himself smile.  Draven just really lost his cool so badly.  But it’s actually well-meant; the man just has a huge problem showing he cares.  Even when admitting he spent part of the night nursing a sick cat. 

And meanwhile...  He pulls out his phone and switches it on.

_\- I have Friday off.  Are you sure you want me to come?_

_\- YAY! & bring Kay.  Music starts midday, we’re meeting at 11.30; entrance on the north side of the park.  Will be so good._

_\- Really looking forward to it!_

The rest of the week seems easier, and passes faster, than he can remember time doing in a couple of years.  The rest of Tuesday, then Wednesday, both rush by and in no time it’s Thursday afternoon and he’s finishing up a story and thinking _Tomorrow, tomorrow_ …

**

Luke Skywalker is possibly the single happiest man Jyn has ever met; the living embodiment of that internet meme about cinnamon rolls.  He seems to have risen above every issue, every circumstance, every peculiarity and difficulty and loss and frustration of his life with a smile and a confidant optimism that leaves her reeling.  If he weren’t such a nice boy it would be very easy to refer to him by all sorts of rude names; air-head, fluff-monster, Mr Sweetness-and-light, the California Sunshine Kid…  _Stop it, woman, you know you can’t call him any of that.  Except perhaps the last one.  He is a ball of sunshine, goodness knows._

And he really does seem to be potty over Bodhi.  So, the hell with it, he can be innocent and naïve, he can talk till the cows come home about visualisations and being wrapped in white light and sending emanations of good will to all.  He is a genuinely nice guy and he makes Bodhi happy, and that is more important than any New Age fluff.

He strolls towards them through the crowds in the park, looking even more like a hippy than usual, in a pair of board shorts and a white jersey with baggy over-long sleeves and frayed cuffs.  He’s even got a string of shell beads round his neck.  The sunlight turns his thick hair to bright gold.  He waves, and Bodhi sighs and goes a little bit wide-eyed. 

Jyn nudges him quickly.  “Just let me know if you want me to make myself scarce at any point, yeah?”

“Don’t be an idiot, we’re just going to listen to the music and enjoy the good weather.”

“And maybe make out?  Just a little bit?  Come on, B, you know you want to!…”

His return nudge is bordering on a kick.  “Don’t show me up, please!  I’m trying to be cool.”

“You don’t need to try, you already are cool.  Say it, Bodhi.  _I am cool, I’m the coolest of the cool, I’m the cool man_.  Think of it as a mantra.”

Luke quickens his pace, beaming.  You’d think he’d heard her say mantra.

“I’m cool,” Bodhi mutters.  “I’m the coolest of the – I’m not cool, Jyn.  I’m not remotely –“

“Not remotely what?” asks Luke, standing over them.  He starts to sink down, apparently sitting straight into the lotus position, just as Bodhi starts to scramble up, and they narrowly avoid knocking heads, and end up in an awkward, laughing hug.  “Bodhi, hi, hi, it’s so cool to see you – what’d I miss?”

“Bodhi thinks he’s not cool, so it’s funny you said cool –“

“Huh?  Okay.  No, wait – huh?  Bodhi, you’re cool!  You’re a really cool guy.”

“Could we maybe use another adjective for a change?  ‘Cos I feel kind of hot and bothered right now and not cool at all!” Bodhi’s laughing still, but he looks thoroughly embarrassed just the same.  “Can I get you a drink, Luke?”

As they move towards the beer tent she’s pleased to see them hug again, less clumsily this time.  She uncaps and sips her bottle of water, looking around at the sunny park.  Every tree in the arena is dolled-up with bunting and fairy-lights, and a line of fifteen-foot-tall flags marks the entrance and exit point near the Manor.  Crowds mill happily between the two stages, wandering into the blue Big Top and the red one, and coming and going from the long striped marquee that houses the bar.  Between the Big Tops, a line of the usual festival stalls, selling funky clothes from around the world, weird purses and leather-ware, jewellery and incense-burners and flower-crowns; further round the field, the usual range of food concessions offer Home-made Garlic Bread Pizza, Turkish pide, candy floss and marshmallows, falafel and salad wraps, mixed veg tempura and noodles, churros and chocolate dipping sauce…  There’s a water point, a line of Portaloos, a St John’s Ambulance crew sitting on hay-bales hoping they don’t have to deal with anything too serious.  It’s packed and buzzing with happy voices and pretty soon now there’ll be a twang on the PA and the gleeful voice of an MC will announce the first act.

Jyn unfolds her programme flier to check who that first act is, and which stage to go to.  It’s a beautiful day, Bodhi is happy with his new fella, and she’s determined not to let it get to her that Cassian and Kay haven’t arrived yet.

Blue Stage: 12.00, The Long Notes; 3.00, Theorema de Kaos; 6.00, Early Evening Classical Ragas performed by Abhimanyu Akshaykumar (sitar) and Vijay Padmanabhan (tabla); 9.00, The Brixton Fadistas

Red Stage: 1.30, West London Hungarian Dance Ensemble; 4.30, Los Salseros del Norte; 7.30, Capercaillie; 10.30, The Blue Nile Bluesmen

It’s a terrific line-up.  Quite when she’s going to fit in two meals, a couple of visits to the beer tent, and several loo breaks, she’s not sure.  But that certainly looks like a solid day of great music.

And as she turns to see if Bodhi and Luke are coming back yet, something hairy comes thumping up against her leg with a bump and a blast of hot breath.  She yelps at the sensation and laughs when she looks down.  Blue eyes bright, tongue lolling out, Kay butts her again with his forehead and gives her his best doggy grin.  Jyn bends to rub his ears; but she’s twisting around, too, unable to stop herself searching the crowd for the thin dark face that must be nearby now.  She’s looking forward to seeing him so much, it’s ridiculous; and there he is.

Cassian waves from twenty yards away, threading his way deftly through the crowds.  She’s still petting Kay and telling him what a beautiful boy he is when his human reaches them both, and she straightens up to greet him.  He’s standing right beside her, almost in her space, with a stupidly happy smile on his face.  And she’s just as stupidly happy to see him; so much so that on impulse she gives him a quick, clumsy hug.  He kind-of touches her, kind-of hugs her in return; kind-of almost-nearly looks to be about to kiss her cheek; and then backs off.

“Hi, Jyn, hi…”

“Yeah, hi…”

They kind-of almost-nearly hug again, and step apart briskly, as if their hands had sizzled on contact.   

_Okay, this is awkward.  But he’s here, that’s the main thing.  He’s here, Kay’s here, the sun is out, the music is about to start.  This is a good day._

Unlike Luke’s trademark loopy surfer look, Cassian is wearing the same comfortably shabby jeans he had on when they first met, and a navy t-shirt with _Oaxaca_ emblazoned across the front in bright green and white letters.  And sandals; solid tan leather things that look as though he goes hiking in them.  He has nice feet, lean and brown, with high arches and rather long toes.  His arms are nice too, also brown, and lean, and muscular, and distinctly hairy.  The perfect arms she would have expected those big, attractive hands to come attached to.

_Heavens, Jyn, calm down.  It’s not a date, it’s not a date, you’re just going to the music festival with your brother and some friends.  Including your new friend.  Your gorgeous new friend._

The breeze in his tousled dark hair, the sunlight gleaming on his moustache.  His smile making crinkles at the corners of his eyes; such warm brown eyes.  Her gorgeous new friend.  He’s beaming down at her.  It seems beyond possible, but he really does look as happy to see her as she is to see him.

She busies herself talking him through the site and the timetable, and although he’s perfectly capable of working it all out for himself from the leaflet, he listens and grins and asks her recommendations for which musicians to hear.

“Well, I’m hoping to catch most of them.  The first group are local-ish, from North London, I’ve heard them before, they play a sort of Celtic fusion music, like Scottish-Irish-Galician-Breton mixed, they’re great so I’m up for that set.  Then I’ve got to hear the salsa band, and the Brixton Fadistas sound fun, don’t you think?  And Capercaillie are terrific, I can’t believe they’re the headline act here, they’re usually playing really big places like Cadogan Hall…  And – well, actually I’m pretty sure all of it will be tremendous – and oh look, here’s Bodhi –“

Just in time to save her from babbling all afternoon, Bodhi and Luke appear, carrying pint glasses and yelling “Meatball!” in unison.

Kay springs up as if he’s been goosed and lopes over to them, wagging his tail and nosing at pockets, begging for treats.  His enthusiasm for being hugged by people carrying beer shrinks visibly after Luke manages to spill some on his head, and both his regular humans start laughing.  He returns to Cassian’s side with his ears and tail down. 

“Bodhi,” Jyn admonishes. “You’ve got to remember not to call him Meatball anymore.  I’m sure the last few weeks have been quite confusing enough for him as it is.”

“Sorry, sorry – but it’s so good to see you, M – Kay.  Kay!  Look at me!  Good boy!”

Luke is grinning sunnily at Cassian.  “Hey, man, good to see you again.”

“Same.  I really owe you, you know?  Jyn, without this guy, I’d never have found you, you know that?  I owe him so much!”

From anyone else, she would have found that hurtful, as if he’s asking her to celebrate her dog being taken away.  But it doesn’t sound quite that way, coming from Cassian, and he jumps nervously next moment, as if realising the implications of what he’s just said.  He didn’t say _I would never have found Kay_ but _I would never have found **you**_ ; and there was so much genuine gratitude and excitement in his voice.  He looks at her pleadingly, confusion twisting his smile sideways, and she gives him the benefit of the doubt.  She smiles back, turning Bodhi towards him.

“Cassian, this is my adoptive brother, Bodhi.  Bodhi, this is Cassian, Kay’s real owner.”

“Kay’s _other_ real owner,” Cassian rephrases it quickly.  “You’re pretty real to him too, I think, no?” 

So he did notice.  Her grin feels foolish and goofy with pleasure.  He is, he always is, a man who notices things. 

Bodhi is saying “Very pleased to meet you,” and giving Cassian a thoroughly appraising look-over.

She waits till they’ve finished shaking hands before she reaches out to get his attention.  His bare arm is warm to the touch.  “Let’s let these two enjoy their drinks, and get ourselves some.  And something to eat, maybe?  The first band are up in less than half an hour…”

“Yeah, great, cool…”  He follows her towards the beer tent.  Behind them Bodhi and Luke start to laugh, and Jyn tells herself it can’t possibly be at her.  At them.  Her ears feel hot.  And her cheeks, and her neck, her whole décolleté, ugh, she’s actually blushing. 

She hopes Cassian won’t notice.  But since he probably will… 

_Just enjoy the day, Jyn.  Eat, drink, and be merry, and dance like there’s no-one watching._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ealing Music Festival is a real event; it takes place in Walpole Park every July, but it hasn't had a World Music day for the last four or five years, so I'm bending reality to suit my fic purposes here.   
> Some of the musicians mentioned are real, others are my invention. Getting the superb Capercaillie to play a small local event like this would be a hell of a coup.


	6. I wanna give you everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassian walks Jyn home after the festival; more tea is drunk, and Kay goes to bed...
> 
> A monster chapter, sorry! I just can't find a suitabe place for a chapter break.

He’s tired all over, but happily so.  He’s eaten far too much fried food; two helpings of tempura veggies and black bean sauce, and a lot more churros than were good for him – but then how often do you get decent churros in the UK? – and he’s drunk about two litres of strong dry cider.  His feet are sore, his face aches from smiling and his throat is sore from talking and laughing, and panting for breath at the end of each exhilarating dance.

He’s danced.  Cassian is no dancer, but he’s danced, and not cared, and loved every minute of it.  He’s capered like an idiot, flapped his arms like a bird; and later on, when the cider began to kick in, he had held out his arms to Jyn and taken her in a loose salsa-hold, and steered her carefully into a few moves while she chuckled at her own clumsiness.  They had wobbled through the steps for the rest of that set, stumbling and holding on, and darted small shy smiles at one another.

He’s had to restrain Kay once or twice from raiding other groups’ food, but mostly his dog has lain patiently on the grass and listened to the happiness around him, giving an occasional loud sigh and an occasional thump of his tail.

The music has been wonderful, the weather has stayed sunny, and he’s had the best day off in years.

They’re all hugging their goodbyes now, at the big set of park gates where he first caught sight of Jyn and Kay, two weeks ago.  Bodhi and Luke are heading for Ealing Broadway and the tube.  Jyn is going home too, she says; it’s walking distance, she says.  She’ll be fine, she says. 

He offers to walk with her anyway.  For a moment there’s a flicker in her eyes, a reflexive _no-thank-you_ coming up and being held back.  Instead she gives him that little smile again and thanks him.

He watches her sidelong as they turn away from the fast-emptying park. 

Along Mattock Lane with Kay loping beside them peacefully; up a side street, past a Cypriot restaurant and along the main road.  It’s busy even now at near midnight.  Kay sniffs hungrily at a grilled chicken shop, and a few metres later makes a sneaky lunge at the display outside a small grocery store.  He almost gets his nose into a case of cucumbers before Cassian can pull him back.

“¡No!  Cabrón que eres, ¡no pepino!”

“He does have some odd tastes,” Jyn says.  “Porridge, cucumbers…”

“Yeah, he thinks he’s human.”

“All dogs do, don’t they?”

They cross the road at a set of traffic lights, Kay looks back despondently; then suddenly he recognises something on this side of the street and brightens, ears twitching happily up.  He begins sniffing each lamp-post and road sign, and every inch of every shop-front, as if checking the place for intruders or bugs.

“This has been a lovely day,” Jyn says softly.

“Yeah…”

Each time he steals another glance at her, he sees the flush on her cheeks, remembers exertion and cheerfulness setting her blushing and breathless, sunshine making her eyes sparkle.  He remembers that impulsive hug; and the feeling of her hand in his, her body against his, just brushing against him as they danced.  Her mouth, barely thirty centimetres from his, her full lips smiling, shyly at first and then an unabashed grin edged with creases, full of hope and awkwardness and a gradually blooming confidence.  Her mouth, her mouth; dear god, he’s turning into the kind of asshole who stares at a girl’s mouth. 

_Think of something neutral to talk about, idiot.  Distract yourself, keep the conversation going.  There has to be something you can ask her about…_

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Jyn –“ _oh God, what am I going to say?  Think of something, quick_ – “How did you end up working in a shop?”

Jyn’s eyes widen and her eyebrows go up several millimetres.  _Mierda.  Wrong question._

“I mean, I’m sorry, that came out wrong, I know you’re the manager but – I mean, it just seems like not the career I would have expected for you…”

He can hear her, can even see her, taking two deep breaths and then a third; realises she’s refusing to let herself answer until that’s done.  Her jaw tightens and relaxes slowly.

“Okay,” she says, her voice careful, controlled again.  “Okay, I know it’s not your fault, sorry if I’ve gone all thundercloud-looking for a moment; it’s just that – you couldn’t know this, I’m not blaming you, but – you sounded really like my Dad just then and it was just really, really jarring, you know?  We’ve been having such a great day and then – I’m sorry if I over-reacted.”

“I’m sorry…”  He is.  He has no idea why it was _so_ wrong, beyond the normal tactlessness; but boy, was it. 

“No, _I’m_ sorry.  It’s just – you know, you always sound so affectionate when you mention your father, like you trust him and you love him; and Galen and I get along so badly, I mean, we barely even have a relationship these days.  I just really envy you that.  And the last time I saw him, he was dumping on me about my job again and telling me to live more the way he does – as if that’s ever going to happen!  He hates that I work in a shop in the first place, and he hates that it’s Trinity Hospice in particular.”

“Huh? – why?  Why would anyone hate a hospice?  They do amazing work.”

“Well, that’s what I think, too.  Important work that makes a real difference to people’s lives.  It means a lot to me that I can give back to the place where –“ she breaks off, biting her lip.  She looks so stricken he hates himself for ever having asked.  Stupid, stupid question.  He wants to wrap his arms around her and shield her forever from the cruelty of his own stupid acts. 

“Yeah…” Jyn takes another three careful breaths.  She looks round at him, goes on sadly. “Yeah, Trinity Hospice, yeah.  My mother and my foster father both died there, so – it’s pretty important to me, and my dad just doesn’t get it.”

“Oh, my God, Jyn, I’m so sorry.”

“You couldn’t know.  Not your fault.”

_So that’s what she meant when she said she’s had bad experiences.  Dios mio, her mama and her adoptive papa both, oh God, that’s terrible…_

“I’m so sorry,” he says again.

“No, _I’m_ sorry.  It’s such a flattener.  Like being hit with a brick.  Isn’t it?  I tend not to tell people because it just crushes them, to think of it, and it feels like they must think I get off on making them all guilty about it.  Oh-all-my-family-died-of-cancer, except-my-father-who-I-never-see…”

They’ve come to a halt.  Kay has found a particularly choice corner, where a brick wall is stained and darkened and a murky trickle comes from a downpipe.  He’s sniffing it like a detective.  They stand awkwardly waiting, glancing at one another and away, each as acutely uncertain as the other.

“It – it really sucks.  I’m so sorry I brought it up.  And like you say, when it’s been such a wonderful day.”  _And only because I was trying to stop fantasising about kissing you.  Idiot. **Idiot.**_

Jyn shrugs.  “It’s okay.”  She pulls a face, as if the sound of her own voice irritates her suddenly.  “This way.  Come on, Kay, you can lick all the drains on the way back.”

It’s only a dozen metres more to a turning, and a lane up past another charity shop.  Immediately behind the store Jyn stops outside a tall, run-down house with weeds in a slip of garden, and a whole row of bell-pushes, at least half a dozen, beside the front door. 

She hesitates at the gate, and Kay pushes her aside and butts it open with a shove of his nose. 

“Oh,” Jyn says in a small voice with a wince in it. 

Cassian hastily shortens the leash and pulls Kay back, earning a bewildered look.  “I’m so sorry,” he stumbles out, for the third time in as many minutes.  “It must smell familiar.”

“Yes, I’m sure he must still remember living here.  This is my place – I’m on the top floor.”  She fidgets, scuffling her sandal-toes on the rickety fence and then looking up at him.  “Actually – don’t get the wrong idea, but – I’ve still got quite a lot of the dog food left, if you’d like it.  If you don’t mind waiting.  I mean, I didn’t ask you to walk me home just so I could dump a load of stuff on you, but –“

She looks so awkward.  He tries to make a joke of it somehow. “I thought you were going to ask if Kay wanted a midnight snack.”

“He does like his snacks, doesn’t he – don’t you, bonny lad?  Good thing he burns it all off with all that running.  But – well, do you think you could manage a sack of kibble?  And there are some tins.  And a few more dog toys.  But it’s okay if you don’t want them, I’m sure I can donate them somewhere, it’s okay, honestly.” And again there’s that flicker of an expression, a ghost of frustration in her eyes as she tells him things are okay that evidently aren’t.

“It’s not a problem, I’m happy to carry stuff.”

“I’ll bring them down.”  Jyn starts towards the front door. 

He hurries after her, with Kay pulling him to stay at her side.  “No, please – Jyn, I can’t ask you to carry a whole sack, let me carry them, I don’t mind climbing up some stairs –“

“But it’s three flights, I’m in the attic –“

“I don’t mind if – if you don’t mind me coming in –“

“Course I don’t mind.” She grins for a moment and then goes defensive.  “Though you’ll probably be horrified when you see the place.”

He isn’t.  He’s too absorbed in noticing Kay’s delight.  It’s startlingly clear that his dog thinks of this dilapidated building with its bare wooden staircase as home; and there is something terribly homelike about the clicking of doggy toenails on the floorboards and the stairs.  It’s almost like when they had dogs when he was a kid, hearing Alfonso and Blanquito walking down the hallway or across the patio decking…  The sense memory is so intense that for a moment he sees nothing odd about it when as soon as they get into Jyn’s apartment Kay pulls sharply away from him and trots across to one corner of the room to throw himself down with a sigh and curl up contentedly, tucked in the gap between a worn flowered sofa and a wall with a radiator.

“Oh,” says Jyn again.  Her voice is even smaller this time.  “I’m sorry, I forgot – that was his bed.  His blanket was there.  This was a bad idea, I’m so sorry.”

“Jyn.  Jyn, look at me.”

The place is so small that it feels almost pointed, the longer she goes on not looking; and then she does.  Cassian thinks again of goddesses and superheroes, and how they fuse in her, standing here before him, so real, so good. 

In the electric light her eyes are nearer hazel than green, a subtle autumnal colour full of flecked gold.

He takes a deep, deep breath. “Jyn, it’s okay.  He loves you.  I don’t mind, I don’t resent it; in fact I love that he loves you, because it means you took really good care of him when he was here, and that makes me really happy.  I – I want him to go on being able to see you.  But – if it’s too hard for you –“

“No, I – I can handle it, it’s – it’s okay, Cassian…”

She’s glowing.  She’s fragile and indomitable, and the most beautiful woman he’s known in years.   That push-pull of vulnerability and strength, all of it all of a piece in her.  She glances across at Kay with a gentleness that stops his breath.  He swallows, lets himself calm down; goes on.

“And I - I really hope we can stop apologising to one another.  There’s really nothing – nothing – that you need to apologise to me for.  And I don’t want there ever to be anything I need to say sorry to you for.  Ever.”

“There isn’t.”

“Well, that’s good, because – you see – the only reason I asked about your job is – this is so dumb, but – I was just trying to think of something to say, to help me stop thinking about something really stupid - I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories, I was actually trying to stop myself making them for you –“ he runs out of breath.  Stares at her helplessly.

Jyn is staring back.  “What are you talking about? – Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Kay raises his head and twitches one ear; heaves a loud sigh.  _If he could speak, he’d be saying **Liar** round about now…_

“What were you trying to stop thinking about?  That sounds – kind of sad, Cassian.  I know it’s not my business but – tell me if I can do anything?”

“I’m okay,” he says helplessly.

Another heavy sigh from Kay.

“This has been such a great day.”  Cassian takes another purposeful breath.  “And I don’t want to be the – the kind of creepy guy who makes you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”  She looks down and then up at him again, shyly.  Is it his imagination, or do her eyes drop to his mouth for a second?  He must have dreamed that.  “Not with you,” Jyn says in a rush, and looks away again.

“Oh!  Oh, that’s – that’s good.  That’s good to know…” _And that’s my **most** idiot smile, oh shit_…

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, either.”  Her own smile is so shy still, but true as a bell.

“You don’t.  You – I feel safe with you.  I always have.  I can’t explain it but – yeah – and that’s what I don’t want to damage.  Do you know what I mean?”

“I _think_ so…  I’m not sure, to be honest…  Do you not feel safe usually?”

“I’m – working on it.”

Jyn smiles again, rueful and accepting.  “Yeah, me too.”

She looks around the tiny studio.  He follows her gaze, bound to her as though held by ties of steel, going wherever she goes, seeing what she sees.  Sofa, dog, bookcase, bookcase, book- _stack_?  Table - more books - folding chairs that don’t match, more books on one of the chairs.  Along one wall are a stove, refrigerator, sink, washing machine, cupboards; then an old-fashioned three-leaf folding screen, with a very-obviously unmade bed behind it.  Window, door, rug.  And the two of them.

“Kay’s gone to sleep,” Jyn says quietly.

“Damn.  I’ll wake him.  We ought to go, it’s late and we’re imposing on you.”

“It’s okay.  You could – stay a while.  If you want to.  We could have tea – or coffee, if you don’t mind caffeine at this hour, I don’t buy decaf, sorry.  Or I have some wine…”  She looks startled at her own words but her voice although small is calm.  She looks up at him again, half-smiling, a quirk of it and then gone. 

“Tea would be good, if it’s herbal.  Do you have _manzanilla_ , or – something with fruit?”

“I’ve got rosehip, or lemon-and-ginger, or apple?”

“Apple tea?  That sounds good…”

It’s only four paces to the kitchen area; no wonder she feels safe here, tucked in this little nest in the top of the house.

Jyn fills the kettle and switches it on, and takes down two mugs from a line of hooks.  Cassian moves to stand beside her.  Watches her movements.  She’s quick and controlled, with a relaxed stance, her hands moving quietly as she deposits tea bags in the mugs, closes the tea packet, puts it away. 

If he keeps looking at her hands, perhaps he can stop himself from looking at her mouth.

She glances up at him sideways, with one eyebrow lifted, and his heart flutters.  There’s so much kindness in Jyn, under that brave, defensive façade; there’s gentleness and humour, and an ability just to let be.  He knows, with a sudden quiet inside, that no matter what else, he can trust her.  Does trust her.  There’s more than just the light side of friendship here.  More than just laughter and dancing in the sunshine.

The sense of safety goes so deep, so wide, he can see no margin to it and no horizon.  His world is changing.

He smiles back at Jyn.

The kettle boils, and she fills the two mugs.  Colour floods from the teabags, bright vermillion with a hint of gold, and a smell like orchards and cinnamon rises.

“I do appreciate it so much,” she says, standing over the kettle she’s just set down.  “You letting me go on seeing Kay.  He was such a joy to have around.  He has so much character.”

“You mean, all his sighing and groaning, and that _look_ he gives you, under his eyebrows –“

“Like he can’t believe how dense you are, and he’s thinking _Oh human, duh_!?  Yes, all that.  He’s such a good companion.  I’ve always kept myself to myself a bit, especially the last few years; apart from Bodhi I’ve been a bit of a Billy No-Friends, to be honest.  Kay did me so much good.”

“Billy No-Friends?”  He isn’t familiar with the phrase; but he doesn’t really need to be, it tells it like it is.  “Me too, I think.  I get on okay with my colleagues and my landlord but I don’t really – I’ve struggled a bit to get to know anyone since I moved here.  Still finding my feet I suppose.  And there’s the language thing, of course, that’s probably part of the problem too.”

“But your English is superb.”

“Oh! – thank you.  I think my written English is okay.  It has to be, for my work.  But speaking – well, I know a lot of people struggle with the accent.”

“Don’t forget some people can’t cope with half our British regional accents either…” She smiles again, carrying the two mugs over to the sofa.  There isn’t enough room on the table to put both of them down there, and only one of the simple dining chairs is free.  But there are books balanced on the sofa too.

Jyn ignores them, curling up on one end, cradling her own tea and holding up the other mug to him.  He sits carefully, beside her but not too close, and takes it.  Perfumed steam rises.  Next to him, Kay gives a little huffle of breath in his sleep.

Jyn kicks off her sandals and tucks her feet up, pushing two paperbacks out of the way onto the floor.  It brings her knees almost to touching his thigh.  He feels warm.  He’s looking at her through the steam, her bright eyes, soft and beginning to be sleepy, her mouth that he must stop dreaming of kissing, somehow... 

“So why did you decide to move to the UK?”

 _Mierda._  

She probably thinks it’s a neutral question; perhaps as unemotional as he’d expected _Why do you work in the hospice shop?_ to be for her.  But he can see her expression changing, and knows that has to be in response to the change in him.  All the warmth in him has frozen, his very heartbeat has frozen.  Jyn says hurriedly “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I’m sorry –“ and he thinks _We were trying not to say sorry so much.  I trust her, I can do this.  And –_

_I need to do this._

_I need Jyn to know how things are with me.  Both the damage and the recovery.  Before she thinks I’m completely broken, and turns away.  I am damaged, I know I am, but I’m not broken.  I want her to know that.  She has a right to know that.  I am recovering._

_It’s just – how on earth do I say it?  How on earth -_

“I nearly died.”

Silence, and her eyes fixed on his.  All her guardedness gone, suddenly, swept aside by a deep concern.  He swallows and goes on.

“You’ve seen, I think – I have panic attacks –“

She nods when he pauses.  “Yeah.  I noticed that.”

He takes another breath.  _This is Jyn.  She doesn’t push.  This is trust.  This is safety.  I’m safe here in her little eyrie, hidden away above the rest of the world.  I trust her._

“I was doing a big story, an investigation, biggest thing of my career really.  Into – well, it’s a long story, but - corruption at a very high level, let’s just call it that.  I – got too close to some people who weren’t happy about it, and they hired some guys to – teach me a lesson, you might say.  I was kidnapped.  I thought I was going to die.  They staged mock executions on me –“ his voice shakes briefly and then it grows still again; and suddenly now it’s almost like telling someone else’s story – “After that, I thought every day was gonna be the last one for me.  They kept me in the dark most of the time, I mean literal dark, like in a cupboard, shut away.  But I guess they lost their nerve, because they didn’t kill me.  There was this one day, they took me out, put a bag over my head, and I thought _This time it’s really it, this is the day I die_ , and I was trying to remember how to make my peace with God…  and they put me down in the foot-well of a car and drove, and stopped, and just - pushed me out…  In a parking lot by a shopping mall.  I’d been held for just over a month.”  

She doesn’t speak until he’s stopped, and then there’s a pause, while she waits and watches him closely.  He suspects she’s giving him time to be sure he’s okay.  He can breathe, he can think straight; he swallows and blinks, and breathes again.  The story is told.  He nods at Jyn, and finally she says very quietly, barely sounding the words at all “My God.”

He tells her “I did everything the police asked, but they never found the guys who’d taken me.  So there was no prosecution; and my sources on the story had all gone, one way or another – left, or been killed, or been bribed to stay quiet – and I was just falling apart, you know.  And I knew how incredibly lucky I was, because the way that story usually ends, for most of the people it happens to, is with them dead, and there I was, still alive, so I had no right to be in such a mess, such a terrible, terrible mess, like I was, because I should have been dead.  It seemed disgusting to be crying and traumatised when I should have been thanking God every day on my knees for my life, and going out and rejoicing to still have it, not crying in a corner and totally unable to function…”

“Did you have any kind of post-trauma help?  I mean, I’ve had counselling on and off for a couple of years but I don’t know if it would be as much use with something like this.”

He nods again.  “Yeah.  Papá helped me so much.  He persuaded me to see a psychiatrist, at home and now here.  But in the end, therapy or not - I was trying to carry on with my work in the same place, to follow through on other investigative pieces, telling myself I would be okay and still being torn apart inside.  He couldn’t bear what it was doing to me.  He said to me, _Go to your mother’s country, make a new start, don’t stay here where these monsters will never leave you_.  He begged me to leave; and I knew he was right.  So I went.”

She sips her drink, thinking.  “So Kay is like a therapy dog for you?”

“He’s just a dog I got at Battersea Dogs’ Home.  He has been a kind of therapy for me, but he isn’t a trained therapy pet.  But he’d had a bad owner.  So he and I, we’ve been helping one another heal.  Like you said, he’s a good companion.”

He remembers the mug in his hand.  The tisane has brewed strong, while he was talking; the taste is intense, like spiced sweet apple juice. 

Jyn is shaking her head slowly.  “I just can’t imagine – cannot even begin to imagine – what that can have been like.  So terrifying.  A whole month.  Just – my God, how do you come back from something like that?”

“Slowly.  Carefully.  Very slowly and very carefully.  But – I am.  Coming back from it.  I tried at first to go back to being the same person, and that doesn’t work.  But once I accepted that I will never be the same – ironically, once I accepted I am damaged – I’ve been able to start to recover from the damage.  I’ve even been home for a visit.”

There’s a clock on one of the bookshelves, he can see it over her shoulder.  It’s almost one a.m.  Jyn is drinking her herbal tea, looking thoughtful.  He doesn’t feel as sleepy as he did an hour ago. 

He’d still like to kiss her.  Better to have told her this now.  She needs the whole picture, in case another time he does forget himself and make a pass at her. 

“You said _Go to your mother's country_ – your mum’s British?”

“She was, yes.  She died when I was six years old.  She was born in Kingston upon Thames; that’s why I came to this part of London.”

“You have family here?”

“I have a cousin in Aberdeen, that’s all.  He’s studying to be an aerospace engineer.  He’s a nice guy but we don’t have a lot in common.”

The silence and stillness, and the clock ticking; and his unnaturally awake mind, watching and listening.  Kay snoring softly.  The hot sweet taste of apple and cinnamon tea.  Jyn’s eyes, guarded and sad again, looking at him over the rim of her mug.  Perhaps they are just going to sit and talk all night. 

There would be worse ways to spend the time.

She says quietly “I was eight when my mum died.  Not much better than six.  It isn’t a good start, is it? – losing your mother, I mean.  Nothing ever really seems secure after that.”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.”  So it was the same for her.  No wonder she has this intuition of how to handle him.  They started from almost the same place.  “Is that when she was in the hospice?” 

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”  He isn’t sure if it’s wise to, and it risks the conversation turning to heartbreak as they nurse their tisanes and cry together.  But he can’t not even ask.

Jyn sighs.  “No.  Not really.  Do you mind if we don’t?  They’re all really sad memories and it’s all so long ago now.  Nearly fifteen years since Mum died, over six since we lost our foster-father.  I’ve been having counselling on and off since I was sixteen and – I’m working on it, I know I’m not okay yet but I’ll get there.  Just like you will.”

“I hope so…”

“I’m sure you will.  What you’ve been telling me about, what you’ve been through – that would break a lot of people.  You survived, you’re working on it; you’ll get there.”  She tips her mug to drain it and he sees the movement in her long throat as she swallows.  There’s a shadow on each side, under the jaw, where the strong tendons come down and meet.  Her skin looks smooth and soft there, very fair in the hard light, very tender in the shadow.

She looks across and meets his eye, and is still.

“What you said earlier,” she says after a moment.  “About not wanting to be a creep.  I still don’t understand why you would think that.  You are so not a creep, Cassian.  Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

“Thanks – it’s –“ his gaze has gone straight to her mouth again as if drawn there by magnetism; goddammit, man, stop this! – “It – it won’t be a problem, I promise.”

“You aren’t answering my question.” She sounds puzzled and a little hurt.

“No.  No, I know I’m not.   I’m sorry, Jyn.  I just don’t want to be the kind of guy who does really creepy acting-entitled kind of things…”

“I’m afraid I really don’t understand. “ Jyn’s voice becomes contrite.  “But I can tell you’re pretty uncomfortable about it, whatever it is.  I’ll leave it alone and stop being a pest, how about that?  I’m sorry if I’ve been pushy.”

“Oh no, Jyn, no, never at all, I didn’t mean that –“ he never meant to make her sad.  What has he done?  She’s looking away.  At this rate he’ll lose her friendship from trying too hard not to lose her.

Cassian takes a deep breath.  “I just – I don’t want to be the kind of creep who thinks he’s entitled to kiss a woman if he likes her.  Because I do like you, I like you so much, but I value your friendship more, so I’m just - so ashamed of what I want.”

A frown line comes and goes between her brows.  “Ashamed of what? - wanting what?”

“Wanting – to kiss you…  I’m sorry…”

“Oh.”

And – is he dreaming?  Or is she breathing faster now, too?

She moistens her lips.

“That’s - not what I expected you to say.  I thought it was going to be – you know, something dreadful…”

“Isn’t it?”  His blood is pounding.  _She doesn’t mind?_  

“No.   No, it isn’t dreadful at all, it’s – I –“ Jyn swallows hard; says “I wish you would.”

Incredulity, marble-blank, stunning like a blow to the head; _she wishes – **she wishes he**_ –

She’s quick, suddenly, and decisive, while he’s hanging on the edge of his own breath like a cliff; she’s sitting up, dropping her mug on the floor, leaning towards him.  Her hand coming to rest on his shirt, covering the last two letters of the word there; covering his heart.  Her face upraised to his, eager with astonished hope.

He takes her head between his hands, slowly, gently.  He can’t believe he’s doing this; and he is.  His fingertips touch her jawline, brush the tips of her ears, probe into her hair.  At the last moment they both hesitate, smiling, trembling, wanting; then he leans in as she tilts her face up to his mouth.  For a second it’s a clumsy kiss, and almost innocent, unbearably sweet.  Lips that meet and stammer away, and press together again; she gives a little gasp in the back of her throat, and her green eyes close.  He lets himself sink against her, his arms stealing round her body, drawing her in till they are crushed together.  Her hands clasp round his back, all her strength pressing against him.  Soft lips that taste of apple tea, that move and part under his.  He finds her tongue as she pushes into his mouth.  He’s no longer sure who it is making these little whimpers of pleasure.  He thinks it may be both of them.  He’s in her arms, she’s in his arms, they kiss and kiss and cannot let one another go, they kiss and the world is alive; entangled in her arms, breathing in her breath, falling to paradise on her mouth… 

Kay snores quietly by the sofa as they lie wrapped round one another, panting and kissing, murmuring _yes_ , whispering one another’s names; and the clock ticks on and counts the night away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurrah, they finally managed to stop hesitating and worrying, and just kiss...


	7. My day has started with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before; Cassian and Jyn just want to cuddle, but Kay has priorities...

Jyn wakes stiff and folded like an envelope, her head resting on something hard that moves slowly under her, breathing.  Something solid and firm yet soft to the touch, and very warm.  Her neck aches from the unaccustomed angle she’s lying at but she doesn’t want to move.  Ever.  Her pillow is Cassian, living breathing Cassian, and her view as she opens her eyes is all taut muscle and shapely form, lean and brown; his unshaven chin and jawline, the planes of his ribcage and breastbone, his shoulder, his throat.  Healthy skin, its colour a natural tan that makes her feel even more pasty and white than usual.  A small scar just above the collarbone.  Her hand is over his heart and she can feel it beating, and the little bump of a nipple under her palm. 

When she raises her head, she sees his eyes are still closed.  Extraordinarily long lashes.  So beautiful.  So tired.  There’s something almost terrifying about the delicacy of the bones at his temple.  He looks very sweet and very young, asleep.  He looks weary and helpless and trusting, and innocent, and fragile. 

His lips are slightly parted.  The little hairs of his moustache quiver slowly each time he exhales.

He sighs and shifts under her, and his right arm slides down her body.  Jyn freezes, not wanting to lose that contact, that warmth of being held.  _Please don’t let him wake yet, I don’t want to disturb him.  He needs the rest; god knows he looks as though he never gets enough sleep._

The daylight filtering round her blinds has the subtle brightness of an early morning with a sunny day to come.  It lies soft on Cassian’s sleeping face, and his throat, and the track of fine dark hair across his breast and down his abs.  Sparse silky-soft hair, on muscles that are perfect under her touch. 

_I had expected a hairier man.  Hairier and less toned.  What a cliché, Jyn!  Shame on you…_

_Thinking of shame, is it bad of me to be trying to work out if this counts as our second date or not?  I don’t want to become the kind of woman who sleeps with a man on the first date.  But, be honest, I have been wishing I was for the last week, since that walk and lunch at the Greyhound.  When he almost hugged me.  When he touched my hand and stood so close to me._

She can’t remember when she last wanted this much to be close to someone.  Not just sexually but just - close.  Just, personal-space-what-is-personal-space kind of close…

There’s a bruise on the side of his neck. _Dear me, I got quite bite-y, didn’t I?  But it’s been so long; and it was so good, oh God yes…_

And another realisation. _I kind of need the loo.  Dammit._

She raises herself a little more, propping herself on her elbow, lifting her right hand reluctantly off his chest.  Cassian murmurs wordlessly and she freezes again, watching him. 

Sleep has gentled all the expression lines, emptied the darkness away to leave his face completely relaxed.  It suddenly strikes Jyn that he can be only a couple of years older than she is.  She really doesn’t want to wake him.

Can she manage to slide out from under that warm arm, can she lower his hand to the sheets gently enough?  Can she resist the distraction of his gentle breathing, his narrow shapely lips, ignore the temptation to run her fingers through that silky body hair and circle that rosy nipple, and tease him with a kiss?

Yes, she can.  _Be strong, you idiot.  Let him sleep.  Let yourself go and pee.  You can do it._

_He has such very nice nipples.  Such a very nice body._

_You’re trying not to wake him, right?  So it would be really wrong to start kissing and nibbling, right?  He’s asleep.  What about consent and all that?  He might not appreciate being woken up with a shock, what if it gave him flashbacks?   And he’s tired, he needs the sleep. **Right?**   So pull yourself together, you silly woman._

She’s still watching and wondering, lecturing herself, looking dreamily at his mouth, when he sighs again and stirs, and his hand moves, sliding from her waist down to her ass as if reassuring himself of her nearness.  His eyelids flutter and slowly open and she is gazing into his eyes, classifying them helplessly; clear brown; awake, alert, happy.  He is blinking up at her and smiling.  He says her name.

Jyn’s heart stands still.  She is suddenly sure, more sure than she can ever remember being, that this was the right way to spend the night.  First date, second date, maybe technically they haven’t had a formal date at all yet, but who cares?  She doesn’t.  She is where she is and it’s the right place to be.  She beams down at the man she’s curled and folded around.

The creases at the corners of his eyes deepen and he folds his own limbs round hers and cradles her.  He’s still blinking at her, scrunching his face up. 

_He’s so beautiful._

_Oh fuck, I am so in love I’m gonna die._

He fits her, she fits him, they go together.  Nothing else matters now.

“Good morning,” says Cassian huskily.

“Good morning.  I was trying not to wake you.  Guess I blew that.”

“Guess you did.”  A huge yawn, and the sleepy smile returns like water finding its level.  She leans in to press a kiss to those happy lips and he chuckles, kissing her back softly.

Ah, that laugh.  There was so much laughter, last night.  So many soft-spoken words, cautious and sure, whispered between the kisses, guiding their hands as they touched and caressed one another, exploring, affirming.  So much trust.  It wasn’t a dream.  To know herself safe with him, to know he feels the same.  It’s a giddying thought.

“I’m sorry about falling asleep on top of you,” she tells him. “You’re the most comfortable pillow ever.”

“Any time.”  He shrugs, gives a tiny breath of laughter.  “In fact, you know what, you can do anything you want on top of me, anytime…”

“Ooh, tempting.” Jyn props herself over him and tilts her mouth down to his again.  Their noses bump and she giggles until his kisses silence her.  Deep, deep kisses, hearts beating steady and sure beside one another.  She wants to curl herself into him and never leave the warmth of his arms; wants to love every inch of this lean tanned body, every moment of his time, every word on his lips and thought inside his heart. 

The bathroom can wait.  Everything can.  The world can be lost but she has her man in her arms and his tongue is in her mouth, thrusting, exploring, intimate and tasting of the new morning.  The two of them stark naked and wrapped round one another again on the sofa.  So real, so happy; who cares who cares who **cares** about anything but this, being here, being with him? 

She bites on his lower lip and sucks with a groan of pleasure, and he echoes the sound, the vibration of his voice resonating through her.  She can feel him getting hard and he shifts under her, rubbing himself against her pelvis.  His ears have gone pink.  The heat between their bodies is growing.  Jyn closes her eyes, lets herself sink into his embrace; and in the distance she’s aware of another sound, a faint regular clicking like a clock running fast…

Cassian suddenly jerks  underneath her with a stifled squawk and goes rigid.  She pulls back, horrified and confused; and he is sitting up, catching hold of her and pulling her close, glaring past her shoulder.  He hauls both feet quickly up onto the couch beside hers.  “Kay!  You son of a bitch, what are you doing?”

Jyn wriggles in his arms, trying not to laugh at his expression.  “What’s he up to?  Kay, are you being a pest?” 

“He was **licking my foot**!”

Kay is behind her, and as she peers round at him he places both front feet on the edge of the sofa and rears up, watching them both, with his tongue hanging out and his tail swinging hopefully.

“Cheeky monkey, get down!”

“¡Cabrón, bájate!”

Kay begins cautiously to lift a back leg, preparing to climb onto the couch and join them.  “Noo,” she says, warning voice only slightly marred by her inability not to smile at him.  “No!  Paws off the cushions, come on.  Paws **off** , Kay!”  It’s hard to sound appropriately stern.  Kay is the only one wearing so much as a collar; and despite herself she begins laughing at that eager doggy grin.  The long plumy tail thumps cheerfully.  “Oh look at you, oh you are a cheeky boy!”

“He’s a fucking nosy boy, that’s what he is!  ¡Perro malo, bájate!”

“Come on, gerroff…”  Jyn shoves a bare foot at the nearest of the shaggy paws on the sofa.  “Down you go, come on.” 

Kay shifts his hind leg off again but keeps the other two in position; bends his head to sniff at her toes thoughtfully.  “No.  **No.**   Honestly, you bloody foot-fetishist, give over, stop it –“ his nose is cold and wet and his whiskers tickle, and her attempt to fend him off falls apart in a shriek of “Oh God, stop!”  She clings to Cassian, laughing helplessly; he gathers her in, and he’s beginning to chuckle too, though he manages to say again to Kay “You are a **bad dog**.” 

Kay looks at them both, curled up on the sofa with their arms round one another protectively.  His ears are starting to droop at Cassian’s reprimands, his firm tone of voice.

Jyn feels sorry for him; he probably doesn’t mean to spoil their fun, he’s just trying to share in the cuddling.  But _really_ ; he does know he’s not allowed on the furniture… 

Her voice is still shaking with hilarity as she tries again. “Get off, Kay, go on.  Good boy?”

“He is **not** a good boy!” but Cassian is laughing too now.  He reaches out to rub Kay’s head and says affectionately “Bad dog, go back to bed…”

Kay finally jumps down with a confused whine.

Jyn checks the clock on the bookcase.  “It’s almost eight.  He’s within his rights to be wondering why we’re not up yet.”

“He is not within his rights trying to get into bed _with_ us!”

“This is true…”

When she turns back, Cassian is looking at her with an expression so incredulously happy her insides float.  He’s so beautiful.  He’s the most beautiful man she’s ever seen.  His body is all lean pared-down muscle, he’s as elegant as a human greyhound himself.  He’s so fine; his beautiful hands, his beautiful fingers, his beautiful smile.  His beautiful dick.  It really is a very nice dick.  Her mouth has gone dry at the sight of him and she licks her lips.  He drops his eyes, looks down at himself and chuckles at the sight of his own body stirring; smiles up at her bashfully from under his lashes.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” she tells him. 

“Thank you.”   His smile deepens, all mischief and delight.  “So are you.  Look at you.  You’re so beautiful.”

“Ahh, keep the compliments coming…”  She grins; his condition is getting rapidly more interesting.  “Do I need to raid the bedside drawer again for? –“

Cassian bites his lip.  “Mmm-hmm, maybe…”

Suddenly there’s an ugly snuffling noise, wet and breathy, coming from the end of the couch.  Cassian sighs and hesitates for a moment, then leans over and says coolly “Could you just stop licking your balls, Kay, please?  Good boy?”

A second’s pause, then _snuffle slobber slurp_ again.

Impossible not to laugh.  “He really knows how to puncture the mood, doesn’t he?  I’m sorry, sweetheart, I think we’re going to have to accept it.  We’re being cock-blocked.”

For all that Kay is a greyhound and not a supervillain, it’s very hard to avoid the notion that this is intentional.  The moment they start picking up pieces of clothing and getting dressed, he becomes a model dog, waiting patiently with his nose on his paws.  Each time they start to dawdle, begin to kiss and cuddle again, he lifts one leg and buries his nose under it, and with an enthusiastic _slurp slurp sniffle snuffle_ starts licking his undercarriage once more. 

At least it means that Cassian dressing and preparing to leave, a moment that could have felt awkward, or worse sad, becomes funny.  Each time they pause for a kiss there’s a tiny interval before the sound effects start, as if Kay is trying to give them the benefit of the doubt.  They end up counting the seconds sotto voce, kissing on every other count, and laughing as the slobbering resumes at just under two minutes.

She wraps her arms round him and holds him tight when he’s back in his jeans and tee-shirt.  “Don’t go yet, I’ll put the kettle on, we can have coffee first.”

Cassian brushes her hair back with his hands and kisses her again.  “I think Kay does need to get outside, before, you know…”  He rests his forehead on hers.  His voice is rueful. 

There was a time she would have been falling apart inside, all her insecurities clamouring and shrieking in the certainty that this was an attempt to get away before the social discomfort kicked in.  But Cassian is holding her by the hips now, pressing himself against her and letting her have no doubts at all that he would prefer to stay.  Jyn allows herself the luxury of hope.

“Just take him down the alley and back?” she suggests.  “Let him have a wee and then come back for breakfast?”

He kisses her again, a quick kiss and then a slow, hesitant one that lingers and deepens.  Breaks off at last to whisper “I’d like that - if you’re sure you want me to?”

“I’m sure.” Jyn tilts her head back for another kiss.  She spreads her fingers out, stroking his shoulder blades, revelling in the feeling of smooth cotton sliding under her touch and the faint sharp note of his perspiration.  “I could make eggs on toast if you’d like?  Please come back…”

“Yes.  Oh God yes.  Shall I bring back coffees?”

“I can make proper coffee.  I have a kettle and one of those filter-plunger thingies.”

“Shall I get pastries?”  Another kiss.  His lips are so soft…

Jyn pulls herself together.  “Just bring yourself and Kay back, so I’m not left crying into my scrambled egg.”

She has never in her life joked about this; and something in her tone of voice must have communicated it to him, because Cassian bends his head and whispers “I am coming back.  I am always gonna come back for you, for as long as you want me to.  Always.  I promise.”

Jyn lays her head on his chest and holds him close.  Her voice feels very small in her throat.  “I believe you.”

 _Slurp, snuffle, snuffle_ starts up again from the corner by the couch…

“Bless you, Kay, haven’t you finished adjusting yourself yet?”

Cassian is laughing.  “He needs to piss.  And so do I.”

“Bathroom’s through there.  I’ll put the kettle on.”

She hears the flush, the taps running as he washes his hands.  Then his voice behind her says softly “Just one more kiss…” 

“Mmm.  You’re welcome.”

“And one more.  Just a little one…”

“Quick, then, before Kay gets stuck in again!”

It’s very hard to stop kissing someone you really want to kiss, especially when they want to kiss you this much too.  They could stand in the middle of the room enjoying one another’s mouths for hours.  But it’s morning and there is a day starting, a dog wanting his morning walk, breakfast to be prepared and eaten – “Go on, give him his stroll.  I’ll still be here when you get back.”

They break apart; she potters over to the kitchen counter and opens the fridge, fishing out the loaf, the butter dish, the egg box.  When she straightens up Cassian is standing right beside her again, and he cups her cheeks, holding her face between his hands one more time, taking her lips gently with his own.  He gives her one last long, sweet kiss before turning away. 

Jyn cracks six eggs into a bowl and stirs them lazily.

Cassian picks up the leash from the floor and jingles it, and Kay leaps up, bounding on all four feet as if he can’t believe his good luck. 

“Yes, you’ve been a very patient boy, yes you have, yes, good dog!  Come on then.  Walkies!  We won’t be long, Jyn…”

The door shuts quietly, and Jyn puts the first slices in the toaster and bends to get a saucepan out of the cupboard under the sink.  Her face feels strange, unfamiliar, and it takes a few moments to realise that it isn’t just from beard-burn.  Her facial muscles ache.  It’s been a long time since she’s smiled as much as she has in the last twenty-four hours.  

And there’s no shadow of doubt or fear in her; she knows they’ll come back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a beautiful love song by Cleo Laine and Johnny Dankworth.


	8. Almost like a song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, today was going too well...

The walk to the park and the Festival arena is quiet.  They stroll with their arms round one another’s waists, Jyn leaning into his side with her head against his shoulder.  Cassian can’t remember when he last felt this happy.  The day’s first performers are in action already, he can hear the music coming from up ahead, all twanging and drawling voices, badly-strummed guitars and slow fiddle lines.  Even the prospect of several hours of people with fake accents singing about cheatin’ hearts and breakin’ hearts and the Devil’s Own Luck In Love isn’t enough to crack his glass bubble of joy.  He’s floating, flying, wide awake and in heaven. 

It almost feels like a song, if he knew how to write one.

A cautious, rational, scared little voice inside keeps trying to tell him this won’t last.  This giddy stage is transient, and who knows what may replace it?  Jyn may regret making love to him.  She may realise he’s more trouble than he’s worth; may decide she needs a man who’s less of a mess, or one whose other loyalties don’t lie halfway round the world.

He silences the voice of doubt each time, as gently as he can; it speaks from fear, and his fears have too much reason still to be strong.  He won’t savage them.  But they need to be hushed.  Each time the anxious scurrying in his mind starts again he bends to his left and kisses the crown of Jyn’s head.  He won’t ever regret this. 

He may regret the Country Music Day, though.  The first act they hear is a solo singer so relentlessly heartbroken she starts to seem funny.  They both try to stifle their giggles when everyone around them is listening with serious, emotional faces; but Kay starts to heave loud sighs, which makes it harder.  The last straw comes when he lets rip with a generous doggy fart just as the applause for another heart-heavy lament is winding down.  Jyn hoots with laughter and they make their excuses quickly and hurry out into the sunshine.

The fact there’s no sign of Bodhi and Luke, when he’d understood that this was all at Luke’s instigation, seems indicative of something. 

They get coffee and decide to give it a second chance, when they can stop laughing long enough.

But the second act is not C&W at all, but bluegrass, a five-piece band with a caller, playing proper square dance music, and although after a late night and relatively little sleep neither of them is up to joining in the sets of dances, the music is unerringly joyous and foot-tappingly lively.  And that brings them very happily to lunch time.

Bodhi arrives with Luke just as they are finishing their pizza slices, to find them sitting side by side, pressed together with their backs to a hay bale.  Just as the guys arrive they are licking one another’s fingers and Jyn stares her brother down with a forthright expression that’s clearly daring him to comment.  She doesn’t even blush, though Cassian can feel his own neck getting hot.

“Hi,” says Bodhi.  “Okay.  I see.  Cassian, come and help me get some drinks.”

“Cassian’s busy.” Jyn sounds amused but her rebuttal is brisk. 

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m happy to help.” He scrambles to his feet, wiping his hands on his jeans leg.  Better to get this over with.  “Keep an eye on Kay, Jyn?”

She looks from him to her brother, and a tiny crease comes and goes on her brow before she shrugs. “Course.”

Luke is looking at Bodhi with his head on one side, his smiling eyes quizzical, but the other man doesn’t flinch.

“Come on then,” he says, and leads off towards the beer tent. 

He stops abruptly as soon as they’re inside the marquee, spinning Cassian round and pushing him up against the canvas wall.  “Is that the same tee-shirt?  As yesterday?”

“Huh? – oh.  Yes.”

“Right, I see.  Okay.  Well now, then.  Now.  I’m not a violent man, Cassian.”

“That’s good, nor am I –“ Cassian begins cautiously; begins, and is interrupted.

“If I were to say to you that if you hurt my sister I will find you and I will end you, you’d know I was talking complete and utter rot.  I’m not into that kind of thing.  Plus you’re bigger than me anyway.  But.  Well.  Just the same.  I would - I’d – I’d do something.  Seriously, man.  Jyn is the nearest I still have to family and I love her very much.  I will be very, **very** disappointed in you if you let her down.”

Bodhi’s voice is soft and intent, and his large eyes snap fiercely up at Cassian in the red-and-white banded light. 

“I’m not gonna let her down,” Cassian assures him.  “I am never, ever going to let her down.”

“Good.  Good – it’s just, you know, Jyn’s been let down a lot, okay?  The way her Dad just dumped her; and then his parents not being able to keep her; and her mum’s folks, well that was even worse.  And the Frobishers, God Almighty, those dickheads.  And Saw dying – not that he could help it – well, maybe if he hadn’t chain-smoked his entire life but still – it was just one more person leaving Jyn when she’d thought they’d be there for her.  And then that bastard Stuart – you’re her first boyfriend since him and that was three years ago – seriously, man, don’t hurt my sister.  Just **don’t.”**

Cassian has no idea what most of this is about – Stuart?  The Frobishers? – who are these people?  And what on earth did Jyn’s grandparents do?  But one thing is clear in this catalogue of confusion, and he hurries to repeat his reassurance.  “I would never hurt Jyn.  I know how dumb this is gonna sound, but – she’s amazing and I – Bodhi, can I trust you?”

“What? – no, wait, this is meant to be me telling you about trust, not the other way round – what?”

“Look, I – I can’t believe my luck.  Meeting Jyn.  She’s amazing.  She’s the most amazing woman I have ever met.  I feel like my heart is written all over me every time I look at her, I feel like I’m kinda screaming with obvious; but if you can’t see it I guess it isn’t so obvious after all.  But she’s just – she’s so amazing.  She’s awesome.  She’s so strong, and so gentle inside it.  All I want is to have the chance to get to know her better and spend more time with her.  Oh God, I know this is such a cliché but – I’ve really fallen, here, you know?  I’ve fallen so hard I don’t know what I’m doing.  I would throw myself off a very high building sooner than hurt Jyn.”

Bodhi studies him, eyebrows pinned superciliously high for a moment before he relaxes and a faint smile quirks the corners of his mouth.  “Okay, I’ll trust you.  And please don’t throw yourself off a building.  Seriously, Cassian?  That would hurt her for sure, not to mention probably killing you.  Just stay with her and don’t play her for a quick fling.”

“Oh my God, this is not a quick fling.  This is – this is – I don’t even have the words for it.  I’m such an idiot.  The only thing I would leave her for is if she wants me to.  If she tells me to go, I can’t force her to keep seeing me.”  Cassian looks around anxiously; but no-one has followed them and no-one seems to be listening.  “Please, can I ask you – can you give me some pointers here? - has she ever done that, just told someone to get out of her life?  Just now I don’t know if I could bear it, and she said something to me once about it being easier to be the one who lets go first…”

Bodhi hesitates for a moment.  “She told Stuart to go.  But he’d been dicking her around with other women for a year.  Fucking twat.  I was really proud of her for throwing him out, it hadn’t been easy for her to open up and let him in to begin with and she really didn’t want to end it, but she had enough self-respect to do it.”

“I don’t know anything about Stuart.  I’m not gonna be playing around with anyone else.  She’s all I want.”  The idea that someone cheated on Jyn – someone won Jyn and then two-timed her? - is boggling and he can’t help adding “Seriously, somebody was doing that?  What a fucking son of a bitch.  What a **moron** …”

“Yeah, he was a bit of a plonker alright.  Don’t be like Stuart.”

“I won’t be like Stuart.  I promise you.  I hate him already.  My God.  Son of a bitch.”

They stand grinning at one another in the shade.

“Okay, looks like we’re on the same page then.  Okay.  Good.  Now.  I want a lager.  Luke is a cider man.  Jyn would probably like a Guinness.”

It’s a fairly obvious diversion and he can’t help wondering if Bodhi is trying to avoid discussing things any further.  It must be clear from the way he’s reacted that  Jyn has not been talking about her past.  It would be good if he could get some kind of guidance, maybe even some tips on what the hell has been done to her.  Not for the first time he wonders anxiously whether he can manage to steer around the rocks, and bring this precious new relationship safe to harbour.  Perhaps, with Bodhi’s help, he can…

**

They’ve been settled against the hay bale for a while now, and the sun is sinking behind the avenue of lime trees on the far side of the arena.  Jyn hopes it can be agreed now that she’s given Country music a fair hearing this afternoon.  It still isn’t her cup of tea; but if she’s honest, she isn’t really hearing it half the time.  She’d rather just canoodle peacefully with Cassian.  There could be a string of hits coming out of the red big top and she wouldn’t know; they could be the world’s finest love songs or the corniest me-and-my-new-truck songs ever written, and she probably wouldn’t notice the difference.  She’s far too comfortable and contented, just sitting right here. 

Cassian has his back to the straw bale and she’s settled between his legs, leaning comfortably into his warmth, with his lean brown arms wrapped round her and his lean denim-clad legs on either side of her.  The fingers of her left hand are threaded through his.  Kay is asleep beside them, pressed up against Cassian’s  outstretched right leg, with his head across both of their thighs.  She strokes his ears gently with her right hand.  Her boys.  Both of them so close.  What could be better in life?

And Bodhi and Luke are dancing again, moving in and out of the dappled shadows at the mouth of the tent. 

_I have lived to see a day when my brother can openly dance with his boyfriend and no-one has shouted anything rude at them once all afternoon.  Slowly, slowly, we progress…_

Truly, it could not be a better day.  Daft truck songs or not.

She turns to snuggle in against Cassian’s neck.   “I’m still not convinced about the music, but isn’t it cool to see the guys having fun?”

“Hmmm?”  There’s a perceptible pause after the murmur and then his fingers tighten on hers.  “Mmm…”

She looks round, to see his head is tilted down onto his chest.  Nudges him teasingly in the ribs. “I’m sorry, were you asleep?” 

“Mmm, almost, yeah…  ‘s warm ‘n sunny ‘n you’re warm ‘n fluffy…”

Jyn chuckles.  “And you’re warm and wonderful too.  I think maybe Kay’s fluffier than me, though…”

Cassian lifts his head and bends to kiss her ear.  “Alright, cuddly then.  Huggable-y.  Whatever it’s called.  I’m having a lot of fun and I don’t care if I have my vocabulary muddled.  I’m too happy.”  Another kiss.  “I’m so happy, Jyn, I don’t want today to end…”

Her voice feels very small and shy in her mouth as she says “Nor do I.”

She twists further round, to give him a small kiss; it isn’t a great angle, she has to crick her neck to reach and their noses bump, but his lips are sweet and he smiles and kisses her back.

The music winds down into applause and they press together, ignoring it, swept up in each other again.  Soon there’s a general movement of people to either side, leaving the marquee.  Another set has finished, and a cheerful voice says “Hi, guys!” as Luke appears beside them, folding himself down into the lotus position again.  “How’s it going?”

“I think you can see how it’s going,” Bodhi remarks from behind him.  “Cassian, want to help me get some more drinks?”

“Is it my round again?”

“No, you’re just good at carrying stuff.  Come on, give me a hand, huh?  Be a good sport?”

His encircling warmth unwraps itself from round her and Jyn pouts a little.  “Come back quick, it’s lonely all alone here.”

“You’re not alone,” Bodhi says “I’m leaving Luke with you.  And you’ve got Kay.  You’re responsible for them both.”  Bodhi marches Cassian towards the beer tent again. 

She calls after them “Do you think they’re incapable of dog-sitting one another?”

When she looks round at Luke he’s got a small worried crease on his brow and she suddenly wonders if that was perhaps not the most tactful thing to say.  A twinge of jealousy at having her man taken from her side had clouded her thoughts; how infantile, and how very unfair.  “I’m sorry,” she says hastily “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re a dog or anything…”

He grins, all sunshine once more.  “Oh no, it’s okay, I wasn’t thinking that at all!  I’m just being childish I guess, ‘cos Bodhi’s leaving me behind and going off with your guy.  I just really wanna spend all my time with him.  But it’s only fair he wants to get to know your new boyfriend, right?  Check out if he’s an okay dude and that kinda thing?”

She hadn’t thought of it like that.  He’s feeling the same as her, really; and she ought to take advantage of the chance to get to know Luke a little better, too.  The California Sunshine Kid. 

“Maybe Bodhi wants me to check up on you, too?” she teases.  “Make sure you’re an okay dude?”

“Aww, well, hey, I hope I am.  If you don’t mind yoga stuff, that is.  I am kinda passionate about yoga.”

“I have no problem with yoga, I promise.  The only thing I would have a problem with is if you hurt my brother.  Sorry if that’s a bit upfront of me.”

“Oh, man.  I’ve had a crush on Bodhi for, like, forever, I’d never wanna hurt him, he’s the loveliest guy I know.  He deserves all the good things.”

“Yeah, he does.  Thank you for not being offended.  I am a bit of a mama-bear about Bodhi, he doesn’t always take good enough care of himself, he’s too bloody selfless for his own good; and there’ve been times when we’ve only had each other so we tend to look out for each other a lot.”

“It’s really cool you wanna protect him.  He wants to look out for you, too, I know.  He was saying how he really hoped this guy who took Meatball away from you was gonna be good news and not let you down.”

“I don’t think Cassian’s going to let me down.  I just – I have a good feeling about this, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.  You intuit it, right?  The two of you vibe really well together.  Your soul picks up his vibrations, the way his light and his darkness balance, and you can just tell they resonate with yours.  It’s a good feeling.  Like the universe is with you.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly.”  Actually it’s probably the most New Age thing she’s ever heard, but in a strange way it makes perfect sense, because the metaphor is perfect; she and Cassian do resonate with one another.  She can imagine them as radio transmitters sending out complementary signals.  And Luke’s right about the darkness, too; it isn’t just a happy fluffy thing between them but a grounded thing that has its roots in the deep shadows of life, in losses and wounds that have cut them and left them open to one another.  Open to see and open to heal.  Cassian understands pain.  When she plucks up the courage to tell him the whole of her story, she doesn’t think he’ll pull back, or pity her, or look for a way out.  She just can’t see it.

She can’t see him, either, at the moment.  She sits up more, looking around. “The universe is taking its time with my pint,” she says.  “Can you see them coming yet?”

“No.  They went in that big stripy tent and I haven’t seen them come out.”

“Can I leave Kay with you a moment?  Just going to see if they’re stuck in a huge queue or something.”  Kay has adjusted his posture to maintain maximum contact with her; she shifts his head off her thigh gently.  He whines and resists, trying to push himself into the same position again as soon as she releases him. “Come on, Kay, lad, let me have my leg back, please?  Good boy?”

“He doesn’t want you to go,” suggests Luke.  “He thinks you’re better off if you stay here.”

“I’m coming right back, I promise.”  Jyn wriggles free from Kay’s possessive head-leaning technique again and scrambles to her feet.  “I won’t be a mo.”

“Vibe gently,” Luke says as she heads away. 

_Vibe gently?  New one on me.  Does he think I’m not going to be gentle with my guys?  I’m the gentlest thing in the ‘verse, I’m the sweetest soppiest song lyric ever, nothing but tender lovin’ feelin’s to be found in this here achin’ heart…_

It’s getting cooler now the sunlight is being broken up into long streaks and dapples by the trees.  The crowds are thinning slightly.  It only takes a few seconds to pick her way through to the entrance of the beer tent and look inside.  There’s no queue at all, and no sign of Bodhi and Cassian at the bar.  She turns, puzzled, scanning round the interior.  Neither hide nor hair of either of them; but on the western side of the tent she spots an unmistakable silhouette, and another less familiar but no less dear.  For some reason they went out again and are standing talking on the far side.  Jyn trots over, wishing she could shout _Boo_ and see how Cassian reacts; but it’s mean to make Bodhi jump, and he surely would if she did that.

There’s an opening in the canvas just to the side of them and she heads for that.  But as she’s about to reach it she hears Bodhi’s voice and his words stop her in her tracks.

“Okay, alright, look, I really shouldn’t be talking about this but – look, the Frobishers were bastards, they treated Jyn like shite.  It really can’t be that difficult to avoid being like them because they were just horrible people.  Stuart wasn’t as bad as them in some ways but he did other stuff –“

**_What_ ** _?  What the ever-living **fuck**?!? –_

“I just feel really nervous of saying something wrong –“ Cassian’s voice – “I don’t wanna piss her off or something –“

He doesn’t want to _piss her off_.  Like Stuart _pissed her off_? like the Frobishers did? - and is that really how Bodhi sees it? – and what the _fucking **flying FUCK**_ is he doing telling Cassian about things she isn’t ready to talk about yet?  My God, she is going to have their fucking arses over the fucking barbecue -

She’s through the tent flap in a single furious stride, and her upraised hands are shaking but somehow she manages to keep from hitting either of them.  Her brother.  Her lover.  Talking about her behind her back.  It’s all she can do to restrain herself.

To think she’d been thinking she was happy, thinking she could trust her instincts when they told her this time would be different and this love would be sweet and like something out of one of those songs.  No, the truth is the last two weeks of happiness have just been one huge blip in Jyn’s regular run of zero luck.

_Oh yes, today was going too well.  This was bound to happen._

“What the fucking hell do you think you’re doing?” she demands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm afraid it turns out there is a bit of angst in this story...


	9. Home truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh God, what have I done?"...  
> Cassian and Jyn are both left reeling with regret, and Bodhi takes a deep breath and speaks his mind.

Cassian has known plenty of pain and plenty of fear over the last couple of years, but this is possibly worse than any of it.  Because it isn’t his pain but hers, so he can’t ignore it or rationalise it away; and he’s the one who caused it.  And it hits right at the moment he’d felt happiness was really within his grasp. 

The very ground itself seems to fall, as though an earthquake has sliced across the world. 

Jyn is staring up at him and there’s nothing in her eyes but betrayal and rage. 

Rage at him and, even worse, at Bodhi, who was only answering his questions.  His stupid, nosey questions - o _h God, what have I done?_  

He stammers.  “Jyn, no, please –“

“It isn’t what it looks like –“ Bodhi says over him.

“- it’s my fault –“

“You’re talking about my personal private stuff behind my back, what the hell do you think it looks like, Bodhi how fucking _could_ you?”

It’s agony to hear her turn on her brother like this.   _None of this is Bodhi’s fault_ \- “Jyn, please, you don’t understand, I asked him, I made him tell me –“

“Shut up!” She’s practically snarling at him.

“Shit,” says Bodhi “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Damned straight it’s shit.  The Frobishers?  Really, B?  You’re going to tell this man I’ve known just two weeks about those fucking turd-heads the Frobishers?”

“Jyn, please –“ - _this man I’ve known two weeks -_ Jesus Maria that hurts! - but she has the right to be hurt, he should never have asked – “Please let me explain –“

“Just shut up, okay, Cassian?  Just fucking _shut it_.  I don’t want to hear it.  There are **no excuses**.  Bodhi, how could you do this to me?  No, don’t answer that.  I – I’m going home…”

“Let me walk with you.”  Cassian tries to reach out for her but she bats his hand away like a moth. “Please,” he begs again “- it’s not Bodhi’s fault, please let me explain –“

Her face is cold as a storm-front, and wet with sudden furious tears.  “Just **don’t** ,” she says; and she throws one hand up, right in his face, palm out, fingers splayed as if to push him away bodily.  “Just fucking don’t, okay?  You think I can’t tell what you’re trying to do?  Looking for a reason to get out of this, now you’ve realised what a fuck-up I am?  Just – just **don’t**.  Stay away from me.”  She turns back to her brother.  Her voice is icy.  “I’m not going to talk to you at the moment because I don’t trust myself.  Bodhi, how _could_ you?  I’ll – I’ll talk to you later, d’you hear me, _later_ – and **_I_** choose when later is, right? – do not contact me, either of you.  D’you hear me?  I’m going home.  Kay’s with Luke.  Go and collect him and then fuck off.  Just fucking leave me alone, the pair of you.”

He watches her walking away, out across the field in the late afternoon light; the whole day falls aslant around her, air beginning to chill, the first insects of dusk dancing like nightmares.  Her back as she walks is rigid; her head held high, hands at her sides clenching into fists.  Her shoulders heave as though it’s a struggle to breathe.  He tries to run after her, though he can barely breathe himself.  Tries, and falls as his legs give out under him. 

“Jyn…” he whispers. 

She’s far away now, she can’t hear.  She wouldn’t listen if she could.

“Shit, shit!” cries Bodhi again, throwing his hands up in frustration.  “Fucking shit and buggeration!”

Cassian braces himself on his shaking arms and manages to pull himself upright again, though he staggers and has to catch onto Bodhi to keep his balance.  The world screams in bright colours of flags and tinny trashy music, flaunting its sunset vividness and its utter emptiness at him. 

Jyn is almost out of sight.

“Go after her,” Bodhi urges him.  “Quick!”

“I can’t!  She - she told me to leave her alone…”

She told him to leave her alone.  She wants him to leave; so, he has to.  He has no choice. 

He lets go of Bodhi and promptly crumples up again.

“Jyn…” His own worthless voice burns him, a mouthful of ashes and pain.  “Oh Jyn, what have I done?”

She’s gone.

**

“I told Bodhi not to contact me,” Jyn says sullenly when she answers the door on Sunday afternoon, to find her brother’s boyfriend standing outside on the narrow, weedy front path, hopping nervously from one foot to the other.  “Is he with you?”

Luke glances to one side of the door; says hastily “No, no of course not.”

“Liar.  He’s right there, isn’t he?”

“Please, Jyn, give him a chance to explain.  He’s really upset.”

“Well ha-bloody-ha, so am I.  He shouldn’t have gone blurting out my personal stuff to someone I barely know without so much as a by-your-leave.”  She’s pitching her voice loud, to make quite sure Bodhi hears, even if he’s hiding right round the corner on the main road.  And if it feels like a knife under a fingernail, to hear her own voice describe Cassian like that; well, she’ll just have to suck it up, because there’s no way this one is going to not-hurt, for a good while yet...  “I’m sure he’s told you his side of the story - well, this is mine.  Bodhi was talking about me yesterday behind my back, talking about really intimate, personal things, private things that I do not want just anyone knowing.  Do you get why I’m upset?  This was my decision to take, when to tell Cassian that stuff, whether or not to tell him at all.  My decision, no-one else’s.  If Bodhi wasn’t like the _only family I have left_ I would’ve bloody thumped him.  He had no right to be volunteering stuff like that to anyone, least of all my _new boyfriend_.  Who has now vanished, needless to say.  And who can blame him, now he knows the full story?  No-one ever does want to stick around when they know the full story.  Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.  Fuck it.”

“Jyn, please, you need to relax, feel things a new way – come out, come enjoy the last day of the festival.  Classical music day! - come on, Bodhi said you were looking forward to it.  There’s a string band, quartet band thing this afternoon, playing Brahms.  Bodhi says it’s gonna be cool.”

Brahms string quartets, cool.  And fish will fly.  “Ha.”

“Aww, come on, please?” Luke says again.  “Wontcha give him a chance to apologise?  He’s your brother and I know he did the wrong thing but he was trying to help.  Let your vibes settle down, find the light again.  Give it a chance.  Please come out and have fun, dance to the string band, huh?”

“Come out and dance?” - _dance to Brahms, what the fuck?_ \- “Oh, for crying out loud…”  There’s no way Jyn can possibly look fit to go dancing.  She’s wearing Star Wars pyjamas and her old pink fuzzy slippers.  Her hair is a disordered nest on her head.  Her breath tastes like ditches and drains, and probably smells much the same, because the one thing she had plenty of time to do when she got in last night was to have several large whiskies, before she crawled into her lonely, neglected, unwanted, and undeniably pathetic bed. 

Her skull is throbbing slightly.  No point in denying that, either.

There’s sunshine in Green Man Lane today, sunshine around Luke, gleaming on his golden hair.  He looks miserable.  He’s still casting his eyes sidelong at the corner of the front garden.  Bodhi must be hiding somewhere there, just out of sight.

“Ah, fuck it,” Jyn says.  “Look, I just – I can’t do it, okay?  Tell Bodhi I’ll call him tonight.  But I just – I’m really pissed-off, okay?  He talked about me behind my back!  Why don’t you get it?  You just _don’t **do** that_!”

There’s a pause, and Luke looks miserably down the side of the house.  “I’m sorry, man,” he says.  “I tried.  But she has a point, you know?”

“Bodhi,” Jyn says wearily.  “Come out from wherever you’ve stashed yourself, I’m not going to crack your skull, you know.”

There’s another pause. 

“You promise?” says Bodhi’s muffled voice.  “Okay.” 

He appears from behind the bin shed tucked in the corner of the front garden. 

“Okay, here I am.  No, don’t – don’t start telling me off again.  Please.  Jyn, we need to talk.”

**

It’s one of the most important emails Cassian has ever composed.  He’s lost count of the number of times he’s written and re-written it.

_~~\- Jyn, my dearest~~ _

No

_~~\- Dearest Jyn~~ _

_~~\- Darling Jyn, my beloved~~ _

¡Joder, ** _no!_**  

No emotional pressure, that isn’t fair.  She has the right to be addressed calmly, respected like an adult.

_\- Jyn, I am so sorry.  I don’t know how to express how much I regret ~~asking Bodhi~~ my decision to ask Bodhi for advice instead of talking to you, or just waiting for you to talk to me in your own time.  Please believe that I never meant to hurt you and I will always regret having done something so ~~tactless~~ ~~unkind~~ thoughtless to you.  _

Can he send that?  Is that saying what he wants to, yet?

He deletes and tries again.

_\- Jyn, I’m so sorry I hurt you.  It was stupid & thoughtless of me and I want to apologise ~~unreservedly~~ ~~from the bottom of my soul~~ so much.  I was wrong to ask Bodhi for his advice instead of ~~asking you~~ _

_~~waiting for you to~~ _

_~~hoping you would~~ _

_letting you tell me yourself._

_He didn’t get very far so I really didn’t hear much at all -_

No.  Fuck this shit.  Every word he writes looks either passive-aggressive or as if he’s trying to shift the blame, or excuse himself, or gaslight her.  _Fuck!_  

Delete, re-try.

This time he goes at it hell-for-leather, writes without thinking or editing himself, until he has a full text from opening salutation to conclusion.

_\- Jyn, my dear one, I’m so sorry I hurt you.  It was incredibly stupid & thoughtless of me and I regret it so deeply, I have no words to express how much.  _

_I know you asked me to leave you alone and not contact you, and I apologise for doing so now.  I want to respect your wishes and I do mean to, and this message is partly to let you know that, but I also wanted to say before we part, that I never meant to hurt you and I will always regret doing so._

_I care for you so very much and I wanted to avoid exactly something like this happening, but I went about what I did in completely the wrong way and with all my motives screwed up.  It was unfair and insulting of me to try and “protect” you without asking you if you wanted to be protected, I had no right to assume something like that.  It was wrong of me and I guess that choosing to act like that shows that I never really deserved your love and attention in the first place, if I was just going to be so thoughtlessly paternalistic and macho._

_I will always cherish the memories of the time we spent together and how lucky I have been to know you at all.  You’re a wonderful, amazing woman._

_I apologise for everything.  I know I have no right to ask anything of you, nonetheless please, try to make your peace with Bodhi; it wasn’t his fault, I pushed him to make him talk when he didn’t want to at all._

_As you’ve asked me to stay away I promise I am going to respect that now, and I won’t make a nuisance of myself again.  I love you and I am so sorry about what I did but I understand that you don’t want to see me again, and you have that right._

_I am so sorry.  I will miss you._

_With all my heart_

_Cassian. xx_

He re-reads and sits thinking.  That needs to be revised, a lot, but at least he’s begun to express what he wants to say.  His mind flinches, sore and stunned, from the reality of the memory.  Jyn told him to stay away from her.

He has to do as she asked, he knows that.  But it’s going to break his heart.

He re-reads, and begins to redraft, yet again.

**

Bodhi and Luke are standing in the middle of her studio, and she wishes they weren’t.  Bodhi is used to the mess but Luke isn’t, the few times he’s been here have been at social gatherings like the midsummer’s day party where he’d met Kay, and she’d cleaned the flat scrupulously before that. 

There are dirty clothes strewn on the floor by her bed now, and books scattered where she dropped (and threw) them; and the empty whiskey bottle lies on its side on the sofa. 

There’s an awkward silence.  She’s hungover enough that climbing the stairs has left her out of breath.  She wants, ridiculously, to cry again.

_I cried quite enough last night to last me.  I can’t spend all bloody weekend crying, I just can’t.  I am a rational being.  I made a mistake, let someone in who didn’t really want me, it was an honest mistake, I got hurt, it’s over now.  I am as cold as steel, I can do this.  No more tears._

“So, what did you want to talk about, then, B?”

Bodhi just looks at her.  His big gentle eyes are full of concern.  She would love still to be able to want to hit him, but all her heart says is _he’s here for you, as always, he’s come back for you when you blew him out, you don’t deserve this loyalty…_

“Hey,” says Luke into the silence. “How about I go down to the main street, buy you some fresh fruit, maybe a loaf from the bakery, huh?  Leave you guys to talk…”

“Yeah, good idea.” Bodhi gives him a hug and lets him out while she stands angry and awkward, still puffing for breath.  She ought to be in the position of dominance here, in her own home.  But the adamantine kindness in Bodhi doesn’t even acknowledge such things.  No power games in the face of his simple affection for her.

“Have you had anything to eat this morning?”  His voice is so kind.

“No…” she admits crossly.

“How about last night?  I can’t see any - any pans in the sink –“

Jyn shakes her head.  “No, I – I felt sick, I couldn’t eat.”

“So the last thing you ate was at lunch time yesterday?  That’s almost 24 hours ago.  Did you have tea or anything, even?”

“I had a drink last night.”

He glances at the sofa.  “Do you mean that bottle of Talisker I see there?  Or something sensible like hot chocolate?”

“The Talisker.  Bodhi, what is this, the Spanish inquisition?  No, please don’t quote Monty Python, I’m not in the mood.”  She walks round him, across to the sink; fills the kettle and puts it on, runs a glass of water and drinks it at one go.  “Satisfied?”

Bodhi is looking at the floor, and a small, hard frown comes and goes on his face.

Jyn runs and drinks a second glass of water, because _fuck_ that first glassful felt good in her dry, sour mouth.

“Come on, B, if you’ve got something to say to me then say it.”

“Okay.”  He looks up.  He’s holding the kindness back, she sees with regret and sadness; he’s completely impassive now.  “Okay.  Jyn, are you really going to do this?  Are you really going to do this again?”

“ _Again?_   What the hell are you talking about?” No wonder he’s reining-in his concern; it would seem he’s taking it upon himself to be Mr Home Truths today.  She’d like to feel angry again but the idea tires her and as Bodhi goes on her temper does not flare up.  It sinks and drowns.

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” he says.  “This is not the first time you’ve been deliriously happy about something or someone and then suddenly thought you were going to get hurt, and taken some random stupid excuse to turn round and run away.  Is it? - is it, Jyn?”

 _Is that what it is?_   She remembers the day after her counselling session reached this point; sitting right here, on that same sofa, next to him, crying into her hands about the trait she’d uncovered and how much it hurt to know she did this – this **thing**.  Telling him about it because she had to talk to someone before her heart cracked open. 

 _Get your leaving in before you get left, hurting yourself is easier than having someone else hurt you…_  

Oh God, she wants so much to be angry with him.  “You were talking about me behind my back, Bodhi.  You can’t talk your way out of this.”

“I’m not trying to.  I was wrong, I know.  But you’re using my mistake as an excuse to back away from Cassian – who is crackers about you, by the way, absolutely crackers about you - because you’re afraid of getting hurt.  You’re _doing it again_ , Jyn, and I can’t bear to see what it does to you.  You _create this situation_ and then you’re in agony all over again because it’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy.  He didn’t _leave you_.  You’ve told him to go, and he’s going to –“

“Well there you are, then, he’s not exactly sticking around when things go bad, is he?  Not like you.”  Damn it, it would almost be easier if she could cry; but she feels so cold inside, and suddenly she knows there’ll be no tears coming today.  She’s screwed up too bad for that easy release.  It’s no good, he’s right.  “Oh Bodhi, do you really think that?  Is that really what I’m doing?  Again?”

“Yes,” he says unhappily.  “I think it is.”

The kettle comes to the boil and clicks off, and sits steaming, clicking softly as it cools again.  The cold water she drank sits like an iceberg in Jyn’s stomach as she stares at Bodhi.

He takes three paces to cross the room and carefully, clumsily, hugs her.  She fold up into his arms and buries her face in his waistcoat.  Everything inside her is still cold and dry, a glacier behind her ribs.

“I fucked up.  I fucked up, again…  Oh Bodhi, why do I fuck up?  You were _talking about me_ and I _freaked out_.  I know I over-reacted but I was hurt and I panicked.  I’m sorry I yelled at you.  I know Cassian pushed you into it.  I was just so hurt!”

“I’m sorry too.”  Bodhi’s arms are strong and steady but his voice is shaking a little; the hard look has melted from his face, and he starts to talk faster.  “I know I shouldn’t have done what I did.  I’m so sorry!  But Jyn, he didn’t push me, it wasn’t like that.  It was my fault.  I let something slip and he was worried that if there was something big he didn’t know anything about, some day he might say or do something by accident that really hurt you.  It was my fault for blabbing and I didn’t feel able to just tell him to piss off when it would mean acting like I hadn’t done anything.  And yeah, I guess I knew he might ask you and then you’d find out I’d been flapping my mouth.  So it’s all my fault, Jyn.  And I’m really, really sorry, and I’m so sorry for pushing you just now, I feel so mean, Oh God I could kick myself –“

“But –“ she protests into his neck  “Cassian said it was _his_ fault –“

“Oh, you heard that?”  Bodhi steps back, almost hanging his head.  “Yeah.  He did say that, yeah, I noticed.  He spent the next twenty minutes or so trying to apologise to me because he’d got me into trouble with you.  And you ought to know this, too, he immediately put himself last in your priorities and felt he had to do anything he could to mend things _between you and me_.  I swear, that boy is absolutely bloody selfless.  Honestly, Jyn, he’s a keeper.  Don’t blow him out.  Please don’t.”

Jyn wants even more to be able to cry again.  It would feel horribly, blissfully cathartic; but her eyes are still dry.  “I already did.  I blew it!  I fucked up!  He’s never going to want me back now!”

“No – no, please, Jyn, no - that’s your _thing_ talking again, your push-them-away, look-nobody-cares-enough-to-stay jag.  Please - please, don’t crash and burn over this.  Not this time.  This isn’t the chess club or the aikido class or the amateur theatre group or some other social thing you can walk away from without breaking your heart.  This is a human being.  This is a man you fell for, who fell for you.  That’s different, it’s so different.  He’s lovely.  Honestly, he was, he was _so lovely_ yesterday evening.  He sat in the first aid point and cried with shame about hurting you.”  Bodhi hugs her again, squeezes her tight, breaks away once more.  “I was – I was all geared up to fight him for you on Friday if he turned out to be a dickhead, and by Saturday evening I’d fight anyone to keep the two of you together.  Give things a chance.  Please?  Give him a call and ask to meet up.  Please, Jyn?” 

It must have cost him a lot to psych himself up to this.  Jyn catches at stray words in the onrush of his feelings.  “Why were you at the first aid point?  Did you get hurt?”

“He –“ Bodhi looks awkward suddenly – “shit, he asked me not to tell you – oh well, in for a penny, eh? - he had a panic attack.  His legs gave way and he fell down.  He could barely speak for a while. The St John’s Ambulance people nearly gave him oxygen, I think they thought he was having a heart attack but he managed to explain in time.”

 _Oh God.  Oh **shit**._   “Oh no.  Oh God, no, poor Cassian…  Oh, God, I fucked up so badly this time.  He’ll never want to see me again.  Oh B, what have I done?  I had something so good and I smashed it.”

“No – no - well, yeah but no – look, look, it’s not irreparable, you can still mend it.  I’m sure.  He’s miserable but I know he’ll forgive you in a heartbeat if you forgive him.  I’m a hundred percent sure of it.  The only question is, do you want to?  I know he does.  Please just give him a call, Jyn…”

She’d like to explain, about Cassian’s trauma, the kidnapping, the breakdown; but after all her rage about being talked about behind her back, how can she now break his confidence and tell his story?

He had a panic attack because of her.  She lashed out at him in a fit of temper and managed to give him a flashback to the worst experience of his life.

_What a selfish bitch. You knew he’s got issues of his own and you just let rip anyway._

It’s all too much.  She shivers.  “I need a shower…”

“And then will you call Cassian?”

“I’m such an idiot,” Jyn says.  Staring into the glacier inside herself.  _Oh God, what have I done?_

“No, no, I’m the idiot,” Bodhi insists.  “It’s all my fault.  I’m so sorry I was blabbing behind your back.  You would’ve been within your rights if you had clobbered me, you know?  Please forgive me?”

“I forgive you, B.  I love you.  You’re my rock.”

There are unshed tears in Bodhi’s eyes and he says in a mock-bracing voice “Oh, well, fuck, yeah, ‘course I am.  Now – now - go and have your shower and put something decent on, and I’ll make you some toast.  Toast and tea, what do you say to that?”

“Perfect.” 

“And then – _please!_ \- call Cassian?”


	10. Come down, come talk to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the disaster, the return of hope. Bodhi talks behind Jyn's back one more time and stops Cassian from sending a message that would only be misunderstood. Jyn faces her fear and swallows her pride, and reaches out.

_\- Dearest Jyn, I’m so sorry I hurt you.  It was stupid & thoughtless of me and I regret it so deeply.  I have no words to express how much.  _

_I know you’ve asked me to leave you alone and not contact you, and I apologise for doing so now, but I promise this will be the only time.  I accept your judgement.   I just wanted to say before we part that I never meant to hurt you ,and I will always regret doing so._

_I care deeply for you  and in fact I was trying to avoid exactly something like this happening, to avoid saying something hurtful, but I realise I went about what I did in completely the wrong way.  It was unfair and insulting of me to try and protect you without asking you if you wanted to be protected.  I had no right to make an assumption like that.  I’m ashamed of having been such a typical macho Mexican male when I had the chance not to be.  It was wrong of me and I guess that choosing to act in that way shows that I never really deserved your love and attention in the first place._

_I will always cherish the memories of the time we spent together and how lucky I have been to know you for this little time.  You’re a wonderful, amazing woman._

_I apologise for everything I’ve done.  And I know I have no right to ask this, but nonetheless, please, try to make your peace with Bodhi.  It truly wasn’t his fault, I pushed him to make him talk when he didn’t want to at all.  I know he feels so bad about letting you down._

_As you’ve asked me to stay away I promise I am going to respect that now, and I won’t make a nuisance of myself again.  I love you and I am so sorry about what I did but I understand that you don’t want to see me again, and you have that right._

_I am so sorry.  I will miss you._

_With all my heart_

_Cassian. xx_

Just as he’s re-reading the words for what feels like the fortieth time, his phone rings and he jumps with a squawk of tension.  Fumbling to pick up the incoming call he nearly hits _Send_.  The screen display changes and he can’t tell for sure if it went; he raises the phone, praying that he didn’t just send that email, not without checking it again for the forty-first time…

“Hello?”

“Hi, man.  It’s - it’s me, Bodhi.  We – we need to talk.”

“Oh, my God, yes, we do – Bodhi, I am so sorry –“

“Yes, I know, but – no, wait, let me finish – Cassian, I’ve just been talking to Jyn and I think she’s going to call you when she’s finished her shower – I’m not sure but I think she is – and I know this is going behind her back again and one of these days she is going to thump me, but –“ he’s gabbling, apparently trying to speak fast enough to win records – “but whatever you do, please, _please_ don’t tell her you accept her judgement or whatever that weird phrase was you used yesterday.  Please.  Just don’t.  I know she told you to eff off and leave her alone but she didn’t mean permanently.  I am absolutely sure of it.  Right now the very worst thing you can do is say you’re going to leave her, okay?  Trust me on this!  She needs to know there’s more than one person in the world who will stick around when things go bad.  Wait for her, be there for her.  Let her come and talk to you when she’s ready. Please.”

_Oh God.  Please, dear Lord, please holy Maria Mother of God, please let me not have sent that email by accident…_

“I’ll do my best,” Cassian says weakly.

“Okay.  Okay, that’s good.  Hey, where are you by the way?”

“I’m at the office, why?”

“No reason, really, no – Just promise me you won’t do anything drastic?”

“I promise.”  _Please, Lord_ \- he’s praying so hard he’s almost muttering it aloud - “I – I just wanted to respect her choices.  I just want Jyn to be okay.”

“I know you do, that’s why I’m telling you this.  You do right by our girl, okay?  Do the right thing and the Universe will be with you.   Hey, I’ve got to go, yeah, sure thing, bye then!”

The line clicks dead before he can say _Thank you_.

He waits for the screen to clear, holding panic back by its angry little claws till he can check and verify that the email of despair is still in his drafts folder.

It is.  Still there, still unsent.  _Gracias a Dios_ …

Cassian sits back in his office chair and stares the length of the long room.  The Richmond office of the Rich and Twick is completely empty except for him, this sunny Sunday afternoon.  In theory he’s here to polish up a story on the local MP’s voting patterns since being re-elected.  It isn’t urgent and he’s under no pressure, he could have done it tomorrow; but he had to do something, have something to focus on today.  His mind kept returning constantly to the same two thoughts; the knowledge that Jyn has left him, and his wrenching sense of wrongness, as though the very air has gone bad.  He tried to battle on through, but as the morning crept by his brain fizzed with misery, and Kay’s unhappy sighs began to sound as if his dog could read minds and knew how badly he’s screwed up, until finally he’d snapped and gone out, and come into work.

He’s at his work desk now, sitting at the main office window overlooking the back of Richmond Station and the long yellow trains sliding by.  But he isn’t working.  He’s written and re-written that message to Jyn, he’s tried writing it out by hand instead in case that helps, he’s checked his emails multiple times in the insane hope she might contact him.  No matter how hard he tries, he can’t think about anything else.

He stares at the text on his phone screen again, scrolling down through it, re-reading.  He’s struggled so hard to be respectful, to say how much he cares without stepping on her autonomy again.  Has fought against the urge to write “Don’t do this to me!”, “Don’t do this to **us**!”, or “I will fight to keep this love alive!” or any of the countless other things he feels so desperately, but fears so deeply are just creepy and entitled. 

He starts to tweak a sentence, because something this important can never be polished enough.  Then stops; and very carefully closes the message and leaves it in Drafts.

He stands up and stretches his aching back, and sits back down to try – really try – to finish this piece on Zac Goldsmith.  Number One District Arsehole, as Draven calls him.

The phone lies silent beside him on the desk as he works.  No call from Jyn.  He glances at it and wishes, and touches it, and lets go again.  Loses count of the number of times he’s almost picked it up and called her.  Refuses to chance looking at that draft email again.

Bodhi said to wait.  Bodhi, who surely knows her better than anyone else, told him to wait, to stick around, to let her contact him.

He’s been writing unprintably acid comments about the Member for Richmond Park and then deleting them for almost an hour when an unmistakable buzz echoes down the room from the entry-phone.  Although it’s a Sunday and the office is officially closed, and no-one knows he’s come in to work to distract his broken heart, nonetheless some idiot is out there, banging on the doorbell, asking to come into the newspaper office.  Cassian hauls himself to his feet. 

His back cracks and aches as he crosses the room; his spine has never been quite the same since the beatings his captors gave him for kicks.  He picks up the handset, groaning and flexing his shoulders.  “Yeah, who is it?”

“Cassian?”

“Oh my God.  Jyn, is that you?”  It can’t be…

“Please may I come in?  I need to talk to you.”

“Oh my God.  Oh my God.  Yes – I’ll – I’ll be right there.”

He starts to the door, turns back to grab his phone from the desk and shut down his pc; runs to the stairway and down at a foot-tangling dash, to crash into the double glass doors at the bottom and hurl them open.  Jyn is standing outside in the street, clutching her backpack in front of her like a shield.   Her expression is blank-eyed and fearful, her gaze fixed on the foot of the stairs.  He hurries to let her in.

There are three chairs in the corner of the lobby, next to a towering potted yucca with dusty leaves.  He starts to gesture towards them and then hesitates.  He doesn’t know what to do. 

She hasn’t spoken yet, and her face is so taut and strained she looks as though she’s drunk poison.

“Jyn?”

“Cassian…”

She sounds shaken and worried.  Cassian takes a wobbly step forwards and a deep, deep breath.  Here goes.  “Jyn.  I am so sorry about what happened yesterday.  It was so stupid of me.”  He’s struggling to remember the words he worked so hard to draft; the sight of her has thrown all that careful phrasing clean out of his memory.  “I just panicked, I didn’t think.  It was all my fault.  Bodhi didn’t want to talk about it, he tried to shut me down but I pushed him because I was so scared I’d say something tactless and hurt you, and –“

He runs out of breath and into the momentary pause Jyn says “I’m sorry too” in a small voice.

It sounds almost like a goodbye.  Is that it, then?  Was Bodhi wrong after all? – has she come all the way out to Richmond just to say that?

His own voice cracks and shrinks again in grief.  If she’s come to see him just for closure then this is going to hurt _so much_.  “Jyn, please let me explain –“

“It’s okay, there’s nothing to explain, you don’t need to – please don’t say anything…”

Cassian closes his eyes.  Feels tears start from under his lashes and tries helplessly to think them away.  He’s lost her.  He screwed up, he’s lost her, she won’t forgive him.  His heart is physically hurting at the impact.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

There’s a stillness all around him, and a well of pain inside.  Then a current of air moves against his skin, and Jyn speaks again, very close this time.  He opens his eyes in surprise.

“Please give me a chance,” she says.  She isn’t looking at his face but down, level, at the front of his shirt and the little embroidered bird there, the Aztec symbol for courage. 

His heart is pounding.  _Give her a chance, what on earth? – oh Jyn, are you asking what I think -?_

“I know I over-reacted,” Jyn says carefully.  “I was so angry and scared yesterday.  I thought you were going to do what so many other people have done and dump me.  I thought you were quizzing Bodhi because you wanted a justification.” Her face is so unhappy.  “I know how unfair – how terribly unfair that was.  It’s a thing I do, a panic thing.  And then, what I do, when this happens, I panic more and I push.  I – get the push in first.”

He remembers her sitting beside him in the park, that first day.  Saying _You get your leaving in before you’re left…_

He can’t quite believe it yet, after so much doubt and misery; but she is, she really is saying this; and his hands waver towards her, wanting to touch her, support her, ease this tension, wishing he could do something to console her pain as she goes on speaking, carefully, fumbling for words. 

“I’ve done it before.  I’ve lost good friendships and good digs and good social things because I do this.  The one time I really should have done it was the one time I refused to, with Stu, and then of course that just reinforced it in the end, because he was cheating on me and he ditched me without so much as blinking when I found out.”

Oh Jyn, my poor Jyn…

“So I - I provoke people to leave when I think they’re planning to.  Or I do it myself, just leave, just walk away.  Like yesterday.  Cassian, I’m so sorry.  I thought I meant it but I didn’t, it wasn’t about you and I wasn’t being fair or thinking straight.  I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same after something like this but I wanted you to know I am sorry.”

Finally she looks up at him, and finally he allows himself to touch her forearms, very gently.  Those two small tears have made their way as far as his beard now and others are following them.  He says “Oh Jyn…” and sees her bite her lip.  “Oh Jyn, please don’t apologise.  You had every right to be upset.”

Jyn’s eyes are full of emotion, shame and hope and sorrow layered like mist, masking the view running out and the far horizon where hope lies.  He wants so much to hold her and cradle her head on his shoulder, keep her safe.  But it was that very thing, the wanting to keep her safe, that started this.  And it’s no good, he does, he does want that; never again to see her so unhappy, never ever to cause her any more pain.  His voice is shaking as he goes on.  “I thought I was never going to see you again.  Please tell me you can forgive me?”

“I forgive you,” Jyn says quietly “If you can forgive me.”  A first teardrop slides onto her cheek.  “And we both need to forgive ourselves, don’t we?  Do you forgive me?”

“Oh my God, yes, yes!  My dear – my darling woman –“

She steps in close, right into his space, raising her hands hesitantly to touch him.  “Hold me?  Please, Cassian?”

He’s already putting his arms round her, feeling her shiver for a moment as she embraces him and stretches up to wrap her arms round him tightly.  Her back feels thin and strong under his hands.  He presses his face into her hair, closing his eyes.  Everything is very still for a moment.

Cassian thinks of that carefully-crafted message, that miraculously never was sent.  Would she be here with him now, if she’d received those words an hour ago?  Somehow he suspects not.

In a low voice he says “I promise you I won’t do it again.  I wish I could promise I’ll never do anything to hurt you again, but I daren’t.  I’ll try, but I’m afraid I’ll make mistakes.  I grew up in a culture where - I was taught that a gentleman looks after women, doesn’t expect them always to look after themselves.”

“I could handle a little bit of being looked after,” Jyn whispers into his shirt.  Her voice is muffled but for a second it sounds as though she’s remembering how to smile.  “I’m not used to people sticking around, wanting to look after me at all.”

“I’ll stick around.  I can promise that.  And if I make mistakes, I promise I’ll admit it and apologise and I’ll try to make amends.  I don’t ever want to hurt you, Jyn.”

She pulls him over to the corner and the chairs; subsides a little shakily into a seat.  He tugs a second chair up, close enough that he can keep one arm around her when he sits.  Carefully he tells her “Thank you for coming to see me.  I’ve been so miserable today.  I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d done, how I’d screwed up the best thing to have happened to me in the last couple of years.”

“Me too,” Jyn says.  “Thinking about how you’d screwed it up, I mean.  Sorry.  I was so angry with you; really digging into being angry.  Until Bodhi blew me out of the water this morning, telling me how much I’d hurt you and how I was only hurting myself too, with my knee-jerk defence mechanisms.”  She squeezes his hand.  “I was a bit hungover when he came round.  That didn’t help.  I’d gone home yesterday and drunk half a bottle of whiskey and threw books, and howled my eyes out.”

Despite himself Cassian laughs.  “And I drank half a bottle of tequila and cried on Kay, and tried to sing all the sad songs I know.  I don’t think he got much sleep.  He’s pretty cross with me today.”

“Poor Kay, he is having to be awfully patient with us, isn’t he?  Is he with you here at the office?  I feel like I owe him a big hug.”

“No, he’s at my apartment.  I’ve only brought him into work once; he pissed on the yucca plant there and my boss had a fit.  So he’s not allowed back.  He’s probably sulking now.  We could go and get him if you like; I bet seeing you would cheer him up.  I only came into the office to take my mind off things, I don’t really have any work to do.”

“Is it far?”

“Not really – I live up by the cemetery.  About fifteen minutes.” 

Jyn straightens in her seat and takes a deep breath.  “That would give me time to tell you the stuff I need to.  About – all the things I should have told you already.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

“I know.  But I do want to.  Knowing about these things isn’t going to mean we won’t fuck up again, but it means we’ve got a chance of understanding it when we do, if we do.  And I need to be honest with you, the way you were honest with me.  I’ve given a pretty fair impersonation of a totally fucked-up train-wreck of a human being, the last 24 hours, and I’m not really that bad; but I have my - my _things_.  My hang-ups.  We promised we weren’t going to keep apologising to one another; and I know that was about the social-nicety type of apology, not the big kind.  But surely the best way to avoid needing to do the big kind is to be honest about things.  You told me about what had happened to you; and my issues are nothing compared to what you’ve been through.  But you have a right to know.”  She wipes her face slowly and precisely.  “So please let me talk to you.  Let me tell you about my stuff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if the Richmond and Twickenham Times has a central Richmond office; their main office is in Sutton. I've given them one because I needed our heroes to meet there and then be able to walk to Cassian's flat.


	11. Horrible Histories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know that’s why all this came up. Me freaking out, I mean. It’s because it matters. This – us – it matters.”  
> Jyn's narrative of a childhood of abandonments and betrayals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a monster chapter, this; sorry it's such a slab.  
> My apologies for the upsetting, angsty nature of this section.

“I’m not very good at this sort of thing, by the way, so – well, if I make a hash of this – sorry.  I could never have done your job, make a living with words, that’s for sure.  Bear with me.”

They walk up the road, past the police station, past St John’s Church, with traffic roaring steadily on the left.  And despite that awkward pre-apology, Jyn narrates quite steadily.  It’s almost as if she’s telling someone else’s story.

“I was born in Birmingham.  Mum and Dad both taught at the University.  Then we came to London when I was little, and then when I was seven my father got another job, in New York, and we were going to move there.  My Dad had already gone and Mum and I were still here.  We were staying with her parents for the last few weeks before we moved, while she sold the house and sorted things out; and that was when she got sick.  Really sick, really suddenly.  She went into hospital, and after a couple of weeks when we should have been flying to the States to live with my father, we didn’t, because she was too ill to leave the hospital.”

She sighs.  “I did realise my grandparents weren’t telling me everything – there was an atmosphere, if you know what I mean – but I thought, if it had been really serious, my Dad would have come back to be with us.  I mean obviously, right?  But of course, the second Gulf War had just broken out and he was in the middle of the biggest event of his career.  And well, maybe Mum’s parents weren’t telling him everything, either.  I tend not to give him the benefit of the doubt much, but I have to admit it’s possible.  They were great ones for not-telling-everything, God knows.  Anyway.  Then Mum was admitted into Trinity Hospice.  I didn’t know the difference between a hospice and a hospital, but it was lovely there, and she’d been looking so awful, so I was really happy she’d been moved to a nicer hospital where she could have a private room and look at a garden and a birdfeeder, and daffodils…  I rushed about telling everyone how glad I was she was there.  I didn’t know any better.”

She hesitates before adding “I hope this isn’t – reminding you of anything too close to the bone – I mean – I don’t know what happened to your Mum –“

“Car accident,” he says in a cracked voice.  “Not like this at all.”

“Oh God.  I’m sorry.  So you had no idea it was coming.  I don’t know which is worse, knowing or not knowing.”

They’re passing the big oval junction of Richmond Roundabout, and he has to raise his voice now over the din of traffic.  “Did she – was she long in the hospice?”

“Not very long, no.”  Jyn is looking straight ahead.  He notices she’s walking more slowly than usual, her steps small and almost without purpose.  “It was about three weeks.  She was in a coma the last few days.  And for a while before that she was – not herself.  I think she must have been on morphine.  She just got more and more incoherent.  It was really scary, I’d never even seen her tipsy because she didn’t drink, and suddenly she was talking nonstop, rambling, talking nonsense.  Her parents didn’t take me to see her for a while; and then when they did take me again she was – silent, and unconscious, and – withered.  It was like seeing something shrunken, with Mum’s face hollowed out and dropped on top of it.”

Her voice is remarkably steady, considering the memories she’s describing.  Cassian touches a careful hand to hers.  There’s a second’s hesitation before she grips on tightly.  She turns her head towards him.

“I haven’t told anyone about this for so long, and now I’m pouring out all the grisly details.  I’m sorry.  It was all horrible, but – anyway - I didn’t understand what was happening until it was too late.  So by the time I said goodbye to her, she couldn’t hear me.  I said _I love you, Mummy, please don’t go_ , and she couldn’t hear that either.  She died that night.  And my Dad still hadn’t come.

“He came for the funeral.  He was here for three days.  He looked like shit – he must have been jetlagged to hell – and then he had to go straight back.  Work called and he answered.”

They pass the turning to the big supermarket and cross over the road.  It’s a huge relief to see that despite her unfocussed walk, Jyn is completely aware of the curb, the pedestrian lights, the crossing. 

“What was his job?  I mean, what the hell is so important that -?”

“He’s a linguist,” Jyn says.  “He works as a simultaneous translator at the UN.  It’s about as high-powered as translating jobs get.  He’s still there; I expect he’s pretty busy again right now.  Trying to stop World War Three again…  He speaks eight languages.  Mum spoke ten but she didn’t do the simultaneous stuff, only written translation.”  She sighs.  “I used to be very proud of them.”

Her eyes are very bright and there’s another single tear tracking down her cheek.  She blinks hard, trying to chase it, too late. 

He wants to shield her with every protection and every weapon known to man.

“Anyway.  He went home, and he didn’t take me with him.  He left me with my mother’s parents.”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. 

Cassian begins to rub small circles over her knuckles with one thumb.  Waits while she gathers herself.  When she goes on, her voice is shaking.  “He left me,” she repeats.  “He just left me and he didn’t come back and he didn’t send for me.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, Jyn.”

“Maybe he thought I’d be better off with my Mum’s parents –“ – he’s noticed she never calls them grandma and grandpapa or nana and baba or anything affectionate like that, and his heart chills slightly – “I’m trying really hard to find some excuse for him, you know?  I’ve tried to for all these years but – I just wanted my Daddy and he never came back for me.  He must have had some reason that made sense to him, mustn’t he?  But all I knew was that he didn’t want me anymore.  Mummy was dead and he didn’t want me without her, and I felt _so alone_ …”

Cassian goes on gently stroking the back of her hand.  He feels her lean a little closer in to his side as they walk on.

“So, anyway.  Then everything got really confusing.  My grandparents didn’t want me either, it turned out.  Social services got involved.  They came and took me away and I ended up in the system.  I had no idea what I’d done wrong.  No-one told me _anything_ …  That’s why when I was eighteen I asked to see my file.   I hoped it would help.  It didn’t tell me as much as I’d hoped but it did clarify some things.  Like the fact that my mother’s parents really hadn’t wanted me.  There it was in black and white; they were happy for me to visit and they wanted to have access, but they didn’t feel able to have me living there as a permanent fixture.  No explanation as to why, just a note confirming that in the circumstances they weren’t a suitable option.  And it turned out that my Dad’s parents had actively _wanted_ to adopt me, which _nobody ever told me_ ; but they’d been turned down because they were considered too old, and because they would have taken me out of the country, back to Denmark.  And there was a cryptic little note about my father being ‘unable to make himself available at the present time’.  Anyway.  The caseworker recommended me for foster care with a view to long-term adoption.

“I’m making too much of a story of all this, aren’t I?  And it’s all so miserable, and so long ago now.”

“No, it’s okay.  Anything you want to tell me about yourself, I want to know.”

“Okay.  So that’s how I ended up at the Frobishers, which was a disaster, and then with Saw.  And that’s where I met Bodhi.”

Cassian has slowed to a halt, digging in the pocket of his jeans.  Jyn looks around thoughtfully.

“Why’ve we stopped?”

“We’re here.”

“Here?”

“I live here.”

“You live in a used car showroom?”  Jyn’s melancholy expression widens with amazement and the startled beginnings of a smile.  “Well, that’s – pretty surreal.”

The usual row of workaday second-hand Fiats and Hondas stares back at her from the forecourt and the main store.  Their windshields wink in the light.  She shakes her head, baffled and amused, lifted clean out of her grief for a moment by the surprise.

“I live upstairs.” He leads her to the grubby grey door on the left of the building, and unlocks it.

“ _Upstairs_ from a used car showroom,” Jyn corrects herself.  “So much better.”

It’s a frail glance of humour but it gladdens his heart just the same.  Mother of God, it’s good to see her smile. 

The staircase is almost as unpromising as the street front of Westlake Garage and Car Sales.  He reminds himself of the bare boards and stained, scratched walls of the way up to her apartment.  This is no worse.  Neither of them is well off and working people take what they can get. 

In the narrow first floor passage he unlocks the door of his studio and opens it wide.  “Bienvenido a casa.”

There’s her smile again; he wants to sink into that guarded kindness, to fall into her arms and never be let go.  Her forgiveness is a sweet drug; her lips curve up and she circles him, never once taking her eyes from his, to reach the open door.  He breaks eye contact at last to look over her shoulder and call “Kay!  Hey, boy!  Here’s Jyn come to see you!”

There’s a pause before Kay appears, yawning theatrically and moving as though every joint has seized up for want of an oil bath.  He stretches, looks from Cassian to Jyn and back, and gives a single slow tail wag.

“Hello, boy…”  She kneels, just inside the threshold, holding out one hand, and Kay strolls over to her; sniffs her fingers and then head-butts her on the shoulder gently before nosing his way down towards her pockets, searching for any dog treats she may have about her.  His tail begins swinging slowly and steadily.  Jyn hugs him around the neck.  “Hello, bonny lad.  I was afraid I’d never see you again, you or your human.  I’m so glad you can’t understand that, because it was breaking my heart.”

Cassian bites his lip.  “Mine too,” he says under his breath.  He steps round them, pulling the door shut quietly. 

“I know that’s why all this came up, incidentally,” Jyn says softly into Kay’s neck.  “Me freaking out, I mean.  My stuff.  It’s because it matters.  This – us – it _matters_.”

She looks up at him, defences wide open.  Cassian wants to crouch down beside her and wrap his arms round them both.  He wants to hug the most precious people in his life; and he wants not to disturb them at all.  He says a little awkwardly “Yes, I know.  It does.  It does for me, too.”  And, because his heart is too full to go on without starting to cry “Would you like a coffee?”

Jyn smiles, that small kind smile he remembers from their first meeting, accepting, patient.  Maybe they both need a moment.

Kay has settled  himself now, pressed into her leg and leaning hard against her as though to pin her down.  She ruffles his ears once more as she surveys the apartment.

“Yes please,” she says, and then “Ooh, this is nice, isn’t it?”

Like her place, it’s basically one room; but unlike hers it’s huge, a space ten feet wide and over fifty long, the entire length of the showroom below.  Along the north side no less than four windows look out.  One end wall is taken up with his little cooking station and built-in kitchen cupboards, at the other end are his bed and wardrobe.  Between, a long, bare, open space of quiet, with curry-coloured carpet and daylight and dust motes, and Kay’s dog bed under one window. 

There are orchids and potted ferns on the windowsills, and a half-eaten biltong chew on the floor in front of the stove.

“It’s big.  You could train for the hundred metres in here.”

“Sprinting?  No thanks.”

“Of course, you’re not a runner, are you…”  Jyn stands up carefully.  “Kay, my darling, may I have my leg back?  Thank you.  Good boy…”

Cassian is filling his kettle; out of the corner of his eye he sees her cross to the windows, with Kay hugging close by her side.  She looks out at his view in silence.

He hopes she isn’t easily creeped out.  He’s used to it by now, but not everyone would want this panorama; it’s one of the reasons, his landlord tells him, why the rent is low for the area.

When he walks over after a few  minutes, carrying two mugs of instant coffee, Jyn is resting one hand idly on Kay’s head, rubbing him between the ears, and looking out, past the slow-moving traffic and the line of yews, at the rest of the neighbours. 

“So, you live above a used car showroom, with a view of a graveyard, and no furniture.  That’s not – unusual at all.”  She takes one of the mugs and sets it down on the sill next to the soft fronds of the _Adiantum aleuticum_.  “Thanks…”

“I’ve got furniture,” he says.

“Apart from the kitchen things I see precisely _two items_ of furniture.”

Cassian smiles.  “Yeah, but that’s more than none.”  It’s a relief to talk about something so frivolous, so inconsequential; to see her smile shyly up at him for a moment, safe here in his home. 

“What do you sit on?” she asks.  “Your bed?”

“Sometimes.  Or the floor.”

“I hope you don’t eat off the floor too.”

“No!  I have a tray…”

There’s a pause before Jyn says “Where are your books? –“ and then hesitates – “Do you not have any books?”

“My books are in boxes, in my father’s roof, in Mexico City.”

“Ah.” Her voice shrinks, that simple syllable full of quiet resignation.

Cassian has to explain, he cannot leave that desolation unanswered.  “When I moved here, I didn’t know if I could stay long-term or not.  And I didn’t know if – if I would cope with it.  I’d only visited London once, when I was twelve - and it was so different.  And I was still quite a mess, you know?  Most of my things are still in Mexico.  I’ve kinda just got used to the empty space.”

“I see…”

“But now – it’s like – I have friends – I get on with my colleagues, I enjoy my work – I – I’ve begun to remember how to be happy.  It’s not gonna be cheap, but I’m going to get some of my stuff shipped over.  London is my home now.”

There’s a pause, and silence, apart from the constant murmur of traffic outside. 

He’s aware that the story she was telling isn’t completed; doesn’t know if she’s said all she wants to, or is just resting from the words.  He sips his coffee but it’s still mouth-scaldingly hot.  Carefully he says “Jyn – it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me any more…”

“Oh – right, my horrible history.  Oh God, yeah; the Frobishers.  Krennic and Stella Frobisher.  Nice well-off upper-middle-class white professionals looking for a little girl to adopt.  They fostered me and they told me they wanted to be my Forever Family; and then they changed their minds.  So charming, so warm, until they weren’t.  Admittedly I - I was a pretty troubled kid, I was angry and anxious and withdrawn, and very clingy if I thought someone liked me, and always in trouble at school for fighting, because I was being bullied and I fought back, every single time, so that bullying me and getting me into a fight was like a thing you did to join the in-crowd.  I guess I was a handful.  That’s what they told me.  A mulish, selfish, unpredictable little brat.”

Her profile against the window frame is impassive, quite without emotion, as she castigates herself.  Kay nuzzles at her hip gently.  Cassian reaches out to touch her forearm.  Just his fingertips, so that he can withdraw at the first sign she doesn’t want to be touched.

No such sign comes.  She doesn’t look round, but slowly she leans into the caress.

“You were just a kid,” he says.  “You were eight years old and you’d been abandoned repeatedly by everyone she should have been able to depend on.  You weren’t a brat, surely it’s natural that you were unhappy.”

“I know, I know.  I know that rationally.  I just – I still struggle to understand why the Frobishers did that.  Say they were going to adopt me and then send me back.  It was so needlessly cruel.  And all I can think is that they met a very shy, very cute little girl – believe it or not, I _was_ cute – and they thought they’d got what they wanted, and then found out too late how much was going on under the surface.

“The case file did tell me that after me, they fostered another child, and they sent her back as well.  She lasted a month less than me.  And then they were taken off the foster parents list.  So no-one else had to go through it with them.  That’s something, anyway.

“Krennic was very charming, but he was one of those neurotic people that want to be told how great they are all the time.  And Stella had a hell of a temper.  She would break things if she didn’t get her way.  And then cry and say she only did it because she loved me so much and I’d disappointed her so badly.”

_I’d like to break things too_ , Cassian thinks.  “How the hell did these people ever get the all-clear to look after vulnerable kids?  My God…”

“Social services is underfunded and short-staffed and I guess they’re just plain grateful to keep children in the system housed somewhere…”  Jyn shrugs, wryly accepting; then suddenly her face opens into something approaching a grin. “The one I was always amazed had ever got on the register was Saw.  He was – he was the diametric opposite of the Frobishers in every way.  Nearly sixty, disabled, he smoked like a chimney, he was ex-army and a devoted Marxist.  And he was _huge_ \- this gigantic old black bloke - my father’s a tall man but Saw was, like, six foot four and built like an all-in wrestler, and he went thumping about the place like a broken giant on his crutches.  And he was the best thing that had happened since my Mum died.  I mean, he was _weird_ – he was seriously paranoid, he was the world’s biggest conspiracy theorist, he taught me military things no child should know, I’m sure I got enough passive smoke inhalation to last me a lifetime while I was there.  But he was kind, and firm, and stable.  He helped me to catch up academically.  He blew the school out of the water for not tackling their bullying problem, instead of telling me it was my own fault for being difficult, like Krennic Frobisher had done.  He let me enrol in a ju-jitsu class when I was twelve and didn’t give me any bullshit about what little girls should and shouldn’t do.  He listened to me.  He gave me something concrete to stand on and believe in, and he didn’t reject me.  He expected discipline, but with Saw it was always strict-but-fair.

“And Bodhi was there.  He was the other child fostered with Saw.  We bonded like brother and sister.  It was – it was a good time.  Having the two of them, really, it saved me.

“And then Saw got sick, and fetched up in the same hospice as my Mum.  The bottom fell out of my world again and I was just sixteen.”

Outside the window, beyond the steadily coursing stream of cars and lorries and scarlet buses, the cemetery stretches silent and green, shady with yews.  Out there, where Jyn is looking so resolutely, there are birds singing and squirrels feeding, flowers blooming, dogs being walked.  Here and there perhaps someone will be visiting a loved one’s grave.  Maybe there’s a funeral taking place somewhere, and mourners comforting one another; maybe Soliman the groundsman is cutting the grass or sweeping the paths.  Life going on, peacefully, in the home of the dead.

He thinks of all the sad and strange stories he’s heard in his seven years as a journalist; and Jyn’s childhood is right up there with the very saddest.

She’s looking out at the green graveyard as though it’s the most important place in the world right now.  “That was when my father showed up again.”

Cassian gapes at her.  _Jesu Maria.  Talk about a plot twist_.  “He what?”

“I don’t know how he knew.  But he came to Saw’s funeral.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  And he said – he said –“ for the first time in an age her voice wavers – “He’d really appreciate it if I’d be willing to come back to New York with him.  As if _I’d_ been the one to abandon _him_ eight years ago!  He said he was sure we could work something out.  He said I could go to a good college, a good university.  I could _get my life back_.  He said that.  And he said that he was glad I’d had someone like Saw in my life and he was sure he’d done the best he could but now perhaps he – my father – could help me rub off a few of the rough edges.”

Her tone has gone hoarse and her voice jumps as if something is chasing it.  She swallows convulsively.  “And I told him to go to hell.”

She takes a gulp of her coffee and sets the mug down with a bump.  Starts to turn his way, reins herself back visibly.  Cassian puts his own drink down too.  “Jyn –“

She’s crying properly this time, slow quiet tears sliding down her face.  Her mouth works for a moment before she manages to say “I shouldn’t have done that, should I?”

He doesn’t know if there’s anything he can do or say, but if there is, he has to; if he can do nothing else he can be there, can hear her, hold her, let her know he cares.  “He abandoned you for _eight years_ – Jyn, it’s okay to feel bitter, surely it’s normal, natural, in circumstances like –“

“But he was trying to reach out to me!  Wasn’t he?  Maybe if I hadn’t lashed out then, he would have stuck around.  Tried to get to know me.  Maybe it’s my fault we’re so estranged now –“

“Jyn, no, I can’t believe it, it’s not your fault –“

“Like what happened yesterday!  I over-react and I destroy things.  I’m like Stella Frobisher, I lash out.  Maybe it _is_ all my fault!”

The floodgates are open now, angry heartbroken tears running down her face, her voice quivers like a sick creature.  He puts one hand on her shoulder, her neck, the back of her skull, feels her shaking imperceptibly; gathers her into his arms.  She sinks onto his breast with a stifled whimper and he holds her.  “Jyn, Jyn, shh, it’s not your fault, it’s _not_.”

“I’m sorry,” Jyn sobs.  Her hands clutch on Cassian’s shirt.  Her breath is choking with unhappiness.

“It’s okay - hush – shh –“ He’s fighting down tears of his own, holding her, knowing himself so powerless to ease her pain.  “Shh, cariño, querida, no es tu culpa, estas bien, shh…” 

Kay hasn’t left her side either, since they came to the window he’s been standing motionless with his nose pressed to her hip.  They stay with her, doing what they can, the two of them.  Honouring the trust she’s placing in them, just as she’s stood with them and trusted them in their need. 

Cassian keeps murmuring.  He can’t seem to stop.  “Shh, mi angelita, mi estrellita preciosa, mi pequeña flor de azahar, shh, no te preocupes, estoy contigo…”  Haunted words, loving ghosts from distant childhood; it’s all he can give her.  He rocks her gently and presses kisses into her hair.  She’s talked herself down into the darkest and unhappiest places in her heart, and all he can do now is let her cry it out.  “Jyn, Jyn, cariño, shh, te amo tanto, mi querida, mi estrellita, shh…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have personal experience of being in social care. I've drawn some aspects of Jyn's childhood in this AU from experiences of people I know or have known in the past. I'm sure the vast majority of foster parents are doing a wonderful job; sadly I'm afraid the Frobishers' behaviour is based on a real person, who I hope very much was a one-off bad egg...


	12. See me, feel me, touch me, heal me

The broad, quiet expanses of Hammersmith and North Sheen cemetery are misty in the sun and full of birdsong, and although it’s only late July, something in the afternoon light and the mildness of the air feels like the first touch of autumn.  As Jyn looks around, a blackbird scuffles in the long grass beneath one of the trees and a lanky adolescent fox breaks from the cover of a small mausoleum and runs away between the yews.  Kay leaps after it and is baulked by the leash, and contents himself with a single enthusiastic _bow-wow_ of dismissal.

It’s an urban nature reserve, really.  _A place of refuge.  A place of peace for the living and the dead._

And dogs are allowed, at least on leads.

It’s the first time she’s seen Kay on what must be his ordinary leash.  All the other times they’ve come to meet her, he’s been on the red leather one that she bought him, but today Cassian has put Kay on one of those extending leads, and his dog is roaming semi-free, reined-in from time to time but then allowed to trot off again chasing squirrels and tangling himself around gravestones.  Cassian untangles him, repeatedly, laughing.  By the fourth time, his laughter is a tad embarrassed and he starts apologising to her.  “He’s not usually as crazy as this – you know that, of course – normally he’s quite sensible, aren’t you, boy? – no, Kay, stop that – hey!  ¡Dejalo, por favor! – that’s better…  I don’t know why he’s being so silly today.”

“It’s okay.  It’s always lovely to see him happy.” 

Kay is no sooner unravelled from the stem of a large granite cross than he scoots through Cassian’s legs and runs in a circle round him, entangling them both again.  It’s hard not to laugh.  Too hard; she gives in.  It feels so good to be outdoors, relaxing, at peace with her boys, after the last twenty-four hours of misery, and that flash-flood of painful emotions, earlier.

They’ve had a scrap lunch together, toasted cheese sandwiches and salt-and-vinegar crisps, and more coffee, and they’ve sat side by side on the floor talking and holding hands, glad just to be together again.  Until Kay decided he needed either to join in, or to be taken for a walk. 

He trots over to her now, happy with his work, leaving Cassian holding onto the cross while he wriggles to extract himself from two tight loops of dog-leash.

“Oh, you’re a cheeky boy!  Look what you’ve done!”

“He is,” Cassian says.  “A _very_ cheeky boy.  Jyn, please can you take the lead for a moment? - I’m really tied up here, he’s snarled me up pretty bad.  I’m gonna have to let go if I’m going to be able to get unravelled.”

“Ah, I was rather enjoying watching you trying to extract yourself there.  You’re wiggling like one of those hula-dancer toys.”

“Aww, come on!”  He’s bent right over at the moment, his butt sticking out appealingly.  He looks up at her from under his lashes.  “Help me out here?”

“Of course.”  She can’t fight that smile and those eyes; can’t resist the man she’s trusted with every shadow she has.  She strolls across and takes the leash-handle from him, and crouches down to help him unwind Kay’s handiwork.  It brings her close to his legs and she only just resists the urge to pat him on the ass as he gets free at last.

Kay is watching and wagging his tail.  He steps sideways, slowly, keeping his eye on the two of them.

“Careful,” Cassian says suddenly “He’ll tangle you up too, watch out!”

She winds the dog lead in quickly, reining-in the eager Kay onto a short leash.  He whines in frustration; both his humans are free momentarily, and his own movements restricted again. 

“Shh, daring boy, we’ll go on with walkies in just a minute.”

She’s still very close to Cassian, and she looks up at him and raises her hand to his forearm.  Hopes her eyes will convey what she’s so ill-at-ease putting into words.  “Thank you for – you know, everything.  Still being here.  Waiting, coming back for me.  You know what I mean.  Thank you.”  It’s hard to believe how much poured out of her once she started talking, earlier; she may not have told her story gracefully but my God, she had the words once she started.  But now, remembering that, it seems almost harder to talk.

“Thank _you_ ,” Cassian says quietly.  “For taking me back.  For trusting me.”

A robin strikes up singing in one of the plane trees overhead.  The sunlight is gentle and the air smells musky, of dry grass and damp leaves.  There it is again, Jyn thinks distractedly, that first hint of autumn, bittersweet and delicate.

She gazes into Cassian’s eyes.  Where the light falls obliquely across his face his pupils are the clear deep brown of his favourite black coffee.  He smiles down at her shyly and she leans up, seeking his kiss, hoping...

Kay sighs and sits on her foot again.  He’s heavy. 

“Oof.  _Kay_ …  Will he ever be good for just five minutes, do you think?” she asks as Cassian chuckles at the dog. 

“He’ll only ever be himself.”

“Good thing we both love him, then.” 

“Yeah…”  They’re still so close, leaning towards one another.  He moistens his lips; says “Jyn.  Jyn, can I kiss you again?  I mean, I know I _can_ , sorry, nerves, but – may I kiss you again?”

“Yes, please…”

Jyn boosts herself onto her toes to meet him as he bends his head.  Their smiles touch, tender and eager on one another, and she wraps her free arm around him.  Cassian holds her with one hand cradling her face and the other behind her neck, fingers sliding up into her hair.  A soft kiss, and another; she opens her mouth and deepens the third one, and he responds eagerly.  Her heart and her breath are quickening.  She moves closer, pushing the disgruntled Kay away to press up against Cassian.

In the hand holding the leash she feels movement, the vibration of the spool turning, and the tiny part of her conscious brain that isn’t surrendering into another long kiss manages to signal _uh-oh_ weakly; and is ignored.  She’s melting in Cassian’s arms, so safe, so glad, so warm…

Her left arm is abruptly jerked up, and right round Cassian, as Kay with an enthusiastic _wowff-wowff_ leaps away runs in pursuit of something.  Something that runs right past the cross they’re still standing beside, and around in circles before racing off into the cemetery. 

They are pulled hard against the granite and one another, both staggering slightly from the sudden movement, laughing at one another. 

 _Another squirrel_ , Jyn thinks affectionately, and then – _oh God – he’s done it again, hasn’t he?_

He has.  He’s lashed them both together to the gravestone, the cord of the leash wrapped tight around their legs. 

“Oh boy…”  Her left arm is pushed hard against the cross and with her right she is hanging on tight to Cassian, pressed against his ribs.  He’s holding onto her equally tightly, half laughing even as he glares at Kay.  “It’s like something out of the Hundred and One Dalmations,” she says. 

Kay sees yet another squirrel and bounces at the end of his lead, barking defiantly; then turns and looks at them both, wagging proudly.

“Oh, you’re so proud of yourself now, cabrón, aren’t you?”

“Here, boy, can you come round this way?  Just circle back, there’s a good lad?”

Kay sits down on the grass at the farthest extent of the leash and surveys the cemetery, a watchman protecting his family from the deadly squirrel armies of summer...

“It’s a good thing we don’t mind hugging one another, eh?” Cassian slides one hand into her hair again and tilts her face up; kisses her gently on the lips.  “Are we going to stay put till he lets us go, or do you wanna try to get out of this?”

“Who knows how long he’ll keep us tied up…  Not that I’m objecting to being smooshed up against you.  But we must look ridiculous.  Let’s give it a whirl.  Kiss me again first?”

“Glad to…”  It’s a long kiss this time, tongues teasing and tasting.  When their lips part at last she pouts, and he smiles down at her.  “I could stay here a bit longer if you want; this isn’t so bad.”

“I have no problem with this part of it –“ another kiss – “But we’re tied to a gravestone, Cassian.  We can’t stay here indefinitely.”

“Okay.”

They wriggle against one another.  Her head is right over the little bright bird on his chest.  His body is warm and she can feel his abs and his ribs, under the fabric.  

There are worse places one could be, worse things one could do on a sunny Sunday afternoon. 

“We’ve definitely tangled, aren’t we?” she grins.

“If you let go of the leash you’d have both hands free, but then he’s bound to get bored and move, and we might lose him altogether.   I’m sure you’ve noticed that _Stay_ isn’t really his favourite command.”

Jyn laughs in agreement.  “Look, we just need to unwind ourselves.  Slowly.  If we both move together and kind of spiral back round this memorial thing –“

“Provided Kay doesn’t decide to wind us up again as fast as we get untied…”

They shuffle slowly around, still squashed together, arms around one another.  It must look like some kind of dance.  At last they emerge from the loops of cord and stand free, looking at one another.  Jyn clicks the winder on the leash and brings Kay to heel.  He looks up at her quizzically, ears and eyebrows twitching, and whines.

“Are you gonna behave now?” says Cassian.  “¡Pícaro que eres!  No more tricks from you, please, there’s a good boy.”  He hesitates for a moment and then reaches up to brush a loose lock of Jyn’s hair back from her shoulders.  “I hope I haven’t just confirmed any preconceived ideas about Mexicans and cemeteries today.  Wanting to kiss you in a graveyard, you know…”

“No.  No, you’re making a habit of overturning my preconceptions.”

“You wanna go back to the apartment?  Or shall we get a bus to Ealing and go to the last of your music festival?”

“I’m happy here.  With you two.  Let’s go home.”

They stroll back through the lines of gravestones to the path, and out of the cemetery again, with Kay bounding alongside.

He brought them together first, Jyn thinks, watching the plumy grey tail wagging slowly and steadily in front of her as they walk up to the pedestrian crossing.  And now he’s helped push them together again.  Five minutes pressed up close to Cassian and all she wants is for that mixture of security and sensual comfort to be permanent.  Perhaps not to the extent of being literally lashed together with ropes; but close to him, working with him, peaceful with him, all of that, yes.

_I told him to go, and he didn’t.  He waited for me to calm down, he gave me my space and respected my feelings, and he was still here when I needed him.  I hurt him and gave him the perfect excuse to give up on me, and he didn’t.  He’s kind, he knows how to hope, how to be patient.  He’s one of those people who’ve stayed open, who’ve held on to kindness, when they’ve been wounded in themselves._

_Please God, let me always be and do likewise.  Let me hold on to kindness, too._

She takes Cassian’s free hand and holds it as they walk back to the flat.  They go upstairs again and Kay flops down on the floor and falls asleep, like someone satisfied with their work; long legs and tail all out-stretched, filling an area the size of a small sofa.  His humans have to navigate round him. 

They settle on the floor as well, side by side with their backs to one wall, and there’s a strange pause before he leans in to kiss her delicately.  His warm hand brushes her cheek, her throat, and Jyn shivers into his embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispers.  “I’m sorry I made such a scene.  I’m sorry I’m a bit – a bit broken.”

“Jyn, you’re not.  It’s okay to have feelings about stuff like that.”

“But not everyone is okay with it.  So thank you for that.  And I did feel pretty broken, this morning.  Thank you for – being there.”

“I feel broken too sometimes.  But I know I’m not.  Maybe feeling that way is part of the hurt.  But if we can see it in one another and not be – frightened, panicked – of each other or ourselves – if we can see it and no give up because of it - am I making sense?”

“Yes.  If we’re safe together and we trust one another –“

“Yes.  Trust, yes.”

“Yes, that’s the other big one, isn’t it?  Right up there alongside of love.”

Another very soft kiss; it feels good to be touched, and to touch him.  They are good together; and gentle with one another. 

There’s a patch of sunlight across the floor, just edging up as far as their ankles.  Kay’s feet twitch as he sleeps.  The sound of traffic murmurs behind the windows.

“I’m kinda glad you’re the one who said the L word,” Cassian says.  He smiles bashfully, fingertips against her skin.  “Cos I don’t want to be premature, but I don’t want to act like this isn’t serious, either.  Because it is.  Like you said before.  It sets all of – that stuff – off, because it _matters_.  Because you matter to me.  I’m falling in love with you, Jyn.  I know I am, and - you’re not the only one freaking out.  I need to hold on to this; trust, love.  Because part of me feels like I’ve got to play some kind of chess game of double-guessing everything, in case I say the wrong thing now, and that’s really scaring me.  I don’t wanna start doing that.”

“Overthinking?” she says.  He nods. 

“I know I overthink stuff.  I always have.  It’s been worse since – since the kidnapping – but it’s always been something I do.  My psychiatrist had a lot of theories, that it must go back to my mother’s death, to trying to bargain with God not to hurt me again if I always worked out the right thing to say and do, if I was – very good, a really, really good little boy...”

“Oh Cassian…” That image is heart-breaking, the lonely child trying always to be so good that the Almighty wouldn’t hurt him again.  She hugs him.  Searches for the right words.  “We’re going to be okay.”  Oh, what a cliché; but she prays it’s true.  “We’ll be here for one another.  Let’s promise that.  Not a chess game full of power plays.  Trust and love and truthfulness.  We can do this.”

“Yes.  Yes.  I believe it.  I believe you.”  The embrace tightens, and he’s burying his face in her neck.  Warm breath on her skin as he says “You coming back for me here - hearing what you told me, knowing you trusted me with all that –“ he gasps and breaks off. 

Jyn kisses the side of his neck.  Whispers “Yes, yes, that’s it.  Knowing you’re trusted, that’s, it’s like, such a strong thing, like when you trusted me and told me what had happened to you – when you knew I might be freaked out by it.  Yes, Cassian, we can do this.  We _are_ doing this.” 

“it’s like – coming back to life again, like being healed.  I trust you and I believe you trust me.”

“I do.  And – and – oh, my dear – dammit, I am going to say it –“ it’s the truth after all and when you open up and trust then the truth is the thing you tell –“You’re not the only one falling in love here.  Oh Cassian.   I’m scared.  I’m happy but I’m scared too.  Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t leave you.  Please don’t leave me either.  I can say it to you.  You see the truth of me.  I love you, I need you, I trust you.  And you trust me.  Oh Jyn…” He sounds close to tears and it’s enough to start her off too.  “Thank you, thank you for still being here, Jyn.  Listening to me babble.  I’m talking so much nonsense and you’re here and – oh, my darling, don’t cry, we’re going to be okay.  We’ll have each other.”

“And Kay.  He’s got our backs.”

“And Kay, yes.  And your brother.  I think he’s got your back, too.”

“Oh, he’s downright shipping us.  Didn’t you notice?”

“He is?  God bless him.  I thought I might have a tough job to win him round.”

“He knows you’re good for me.”  The band of sunlight is creeping up her legs slowly and she feels warm and safe, cherished by the light and held in his strength.  “He knows we’re good together.”

“We are, aren’t we?  We’re gonna be okay.”


	13. Redemption Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…are you asking me to move in with you, Cassian?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few last looks at their story and where it goes next. No final ending, for these two and their love, because of course, this is only the beginning...

27/07/2017: 13.05

\- Dear Davits,

I’ve been checking the annual leave roster and I’ve identified a period in which it looks as though it would be convenient for me to take some time off.  I would therefore like formally to request permission to carry over six and a half days of annual leave till next year, and apply for ten days leave between the dates of Monday 7 August and Friday 18 August.  Please would you let me know if this will be acceptable? 

Many thanks

Cassian

27/07/17: 14.22

\- Excellent news and your requests are both accepted.  Congratulations on carrying over a full day and a half less than the maximum allowed.  You have redeemed yourself from the Martyrs’ Crown.  Enjoy your time off.

Regards

Draven

**

Monumentos Históricos de Ronda

Plaza de Toros, Puente Nuevo, Palacio de Mondragón, Jardines de la Alameda, Puente Viejo

August 11th

Hi, B, greetings from sunny Andalucía! We’re having such a fantastic time; it’s absolutely boiling and we’ve spent the whole of today either swimming or sitting in the shade drinking cold beers. So I’m half-cut and a trifle sunburnt! Chipiona is nice, not too touristy, hotel is comfy & a good base. Lovely beach. We’ve driven to some wonderful places, Cádiz was fascinating and the _pueblos blancos_ are so pretty,  & the mountains are beautiful. Food everywhere is soooo good & I could get addicted to _mejillones y_ _manzanilla_. C sends love. Give our beautiful hairy lad a big  big hug and tell him we’ll be back soon. Greetings to L. Lots of love, Jyn xxx

**

“Whose place do we spend more time at, yours or mine?”

“I’m not sure.  Why?”

“Oh, no reason really.”

“Sweetheart, come on, you don’t fool me.  What’s up?  Is something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s nothing – except – well, you mentioned once that your flat isn’t available to let for a couple, only as a single –“

“Yeah, because it’s tinier than Cinderella’s shoe-box!”

“And so, well - I found out yesterday from my landlord that he wouldn’t mind.  He said he doesn’t have a problem with this place being let to a single guy but it’s officially an apartment for two.  And I just thought - even when my books and music arrive, I’m still gonna have a lot of free space.  You know, if you ever wanted to –“

“…are you asking me to move in with you, Cassian?”

“Ah, yeah.  If you would like to.  But I’m fine to go on the way we are, if you think that’s taking things too fast.”

“I don’t.   And I would.  Like to.  If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.  I’m so sure!”

“After all, I’m staying over several nights a week already.  Most nights, when you aren’t staying at mine.  I mean, when was the last time we slept apart?  Before Spain?…”

“Yeah, it must have been…” 

“So, yeah.  Yeah, let’s do this.”

“Thank you for making it so simple.”

“It’s you.  It’s simple because it’s you.  Come here and give me a hug…  I’ll need to give two months’ notice.  And I hate packing and moving, so please forgive me in advance if I grumble.”

“I can’t think of much I wouldn’t forgive you for.  I hate moving, too.”

“And I’m sparing you from having to!  Aren’t I nice?”

“Jyn, if – if you’re not sure at all - we could look for a new place, together, if you prefer?  You don’t have to come here, I didn’t mean to suggest that was the only option…”

“Don’t be daft, I love your place.  And there’s space for two, isn’t there?  I mean, all I’ll be bringing is bookcases and a wardrobe, and bedding.  And the sofa.  And some kitchen stuff.   The rest of the furniture at mine goes with the flat.”

“Ah, I was hoping the table came with you.”

“Nope, sorry.  If you want a table you’re going to have to bite the bullet and get one, I’m afraid.”

“Never mind.  I love you even without a table.”

“You old romantic, you…”

**

October 21st.

Dear Dad,

I’m sending this to you at work as I’m not sure if I have an up-to-date home address for you and the email address I’ve got has just bounced.  I hope it will reach you ok and that it finds you well.  I hope work isn’t too stressful, although I imagine it probably can’t help but be, at the moment. 

I don’t have very much news to be honest.  I’ve seen so many really depressing news stories lately about the state of the world and arguments in the UN Security Council, and the USA withdrawing from all sorts of international agreements, and I just thought your job must be getting pretty hellish right now, and hoped you were managing to avoid a coronary.

Life here continues much as ever.  The shop is doing well.  In September I co-ordinated and ran a charity craft fair one weekend at a local café.  We made over seven grand, I was very proud of my team.  The fundraising office for Trinity Hospice has a vacancy at the moment, Head of Retail and Sales, and I’m thinking of going for it.  I’m good at what I do and I’d like to be able to do more.  It would mean being in charge of all five of our shops and also running events like the craft fair throughout the year, and Christmas fairs too.

You may remember Bodhi, my foster brother from Saw’s?  He’s still working in Air Traffic Control at Heathrow but he’s going to train as a pilot.  We just heard last month that he’s been accepted; a lot of people come into that side of things from the air force, rather than from a civilian role, so he’s delighted to get onto the programme he wanted.  He’s spent five years saving up the fees (which are staggeringly high – I thought he was saving a deposit for a flat) and he passed the physical and a preliminary aptitude test with flying colours.  He’s tremendously excited about finally being in a position to follow this dream.  He’s been dating a very nice bloke for the last few months, a lovely American who teaches yoga and meditation at a healing centre.  His name’s Luke  and he’s a total honey.  He’s tremendously New Age and you’d probably call him a flake but he’s the sweetest guy.  So things are pretty good there all considered.

Actually I’ve been dating too, since the beginning of July, and in fact my boyfriend and I are moving in together next month.  Please see enclosed Change of Address card.  I suppose that’s basically the main reason why I’m writing.  I know I haven’t exactly made an effort to stay in touch; but if I don’t even let you know when I move house, then I’ve no-one to blame but myself if we never do talk. 

I really don’t know what you’ll make of Cassian, he may not be what you would expect for me, but I hope you’d be able to like him.  I hope one day you’ll meet him, if you ever visit London again.  He’s probably the bravest man I’ve ever met and I love him so much I don’t know how to put it into words.  We have a dog (long story) and we are alike in all sorts of odd little ways and have so many things in common.  He’s a journalist and very left-wing, and he loves Sci-Fi.  He’s a superb cook.  I never thought I’d meet someone who was so compatible with me; I’m not the easiest match, after all.  But we were lucky enough to meet, and we are so very happy together.

Anyway that’s about all my news. 

Hoping you’re well

With love from

Jyn

**

With the exception of making room in the kitchen cupboards for her modest collection of pans and food supplies, there isn’t much Cassian will need to change, to accommodate a second person in his apartment.  He doesn’t have enough clothing and bedding to fill his present wardrobe as it is, and Jyn is bringing a second one for hers.  Her sofa and bookcases will line up along the wall facing the windows – they’ve measured everything and it should be an almost-perfect fit.  There’ll still be room for Kay to have his bed tucked up against one of the radiators in the winter. 

It will be nice to have an extra duvet and blankets, if the weather turns bad.

He still doesn’t have a table.  He buys a second tray.  It will do, for now.

He’s moved around the pots and pans as he promised, and given the place a thorough cleaning.  Jyn is moving in on the sixth, and it’s Halloween today. 

Underneath the bed he keeps a large plastic storage crate.  It only comes out once a year.  He drags it out now, sets it under the window, and opens it to take out the things he needs.  The brightly patterned cloth and the framed picture of the Virgin of Guadeloupe.  His mother’s photograph, and his grandparents’, and great-Aunt Fernanda, and cousin José; two matching glass vases which he fills with fresh flowers; a box of tea-lights and a lighter, an incense burner and a packet of copal joss sticks, an adorable ornament of La Catrina that he found in the British Museum gift shop; a sugar skull acquired at great expense from Fortnum and Mason, and the set of skull-shaped shot-glasses and the painted platter from home, for _ofrendas_.  This year he’s bought poppy-seed bread and flapjacks, a bottle of decent mescal and some red and white grapes, and a bag of caramel-coated popcorn like the kind he can remember sharing with his mother, twenty years ago. 

He sits looking at the altar for a while, with the candles and the incense lit and the flowers and food all fresh and happy-looking.  Everything is appetizing and colourful, a joyful, enticing sight.  He says his prayers and sits thinking; remembering and loving, torn between gladness and regret as he asks for their blessings and phrases his news.

_It’s been a good year,_ _Mami._ _I hope you can see me here.  See how happy I am._

_I’ve been well, work is good, I’m good.  I still check-in with the psychiatrist once a month but I haven’t had a formal therapy appointment since June.  Kay is good, he’s healthy and happy; listen to him snoring! – if you’re really lucky he’ll fart as well, in your honour.  I’m afraid there won’t be any cheese on your altar this year, after the mess he made last year…  But we’re good, we’re happy._

_And – Mama, there’s some big news.  I’ve met the woman I want to marry.  Her name is Jyn.  She’s going to come and live with me here, in just a few days now.  She’s so wonderful.   I wish you could have known her.  But she’s coming over tonight, so you will get to meet her.  She should be here soon.  She’s bringing pictures of some of her family with her tonight, to spend the Day of the Dead with you; so you will meet them too.  Her mother, and her foster-father, and her father’s parents.  Oh,_ _Mami_ _, I love her so much.  I’m so happy!  I know I’ve found the one.  Isn’t it weird, the way life works things out?  If you hadn’t failed your Finals and gone off to Mexico to hide from your sorrows you would never have met Papá and I would never even have been born.  And now, if I hadn’t nearly died, I would never have come here to London, and I would never have met Jyn.  A year ago I didn’t know if I would ever be whole again, and I didn’t know Jyn existed; and now we are together, and we are well.  Redemption comes in the strangest ways; it all works out if we give the fates a chance.  We can never know what’s going to happen._

_Please give me your blessing,_ _Mami, abuelos, tía,_ _primo…_ _Last year I told you I was doing my best but sometimes it was still a struggle; and I know you’ve been with me, because so many good things have come to me since then.  Thank you.  I love you and I miss you all so very much.  Thank you for being my family and for all your blessings, and for watching over me._

The doorbell rings, and he gets up, drying his eyes, and goes to let Jyn in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if I have made mistakes with imagining Cassian's preparations for his Dia de Muertos altar in London, and with his thoughts about his family; please let me know if I need to correct anything that is inappropriate or culturally off-key, or just plain wrong.


End file.
